Two of a Kind
by Nov4
Summary: Colt is on a quest for revenge against a man who has taken his life and destroyed it. What was to be an easy quest changes direction and conitnues to spiral out of control after someone, whom Colt cares deeply about, is kidnapped...
1. The Meeting

Cass downed another swallow of whiskey and slammed the glass back on the counter. The luke warm liquid ran hot down her throat. There was a small pool of the liquid at the bottom of her glass. She swished the glass in a circular motion. The whiskey spun around and around in a hypnotizing way. She downed that bit and rested her head on her arm and closed her eyes, remembering all that had happened within the past few weeks. How the Courier helped exact her revenge on the Van Graffs and the Crimson Caravan Company… and then he just left her at the Mojave Outpost so she could find her own path. What was she to do? There was nothing back West for her anymore, not since her caravan was destroyed. There's nothing in the Mojave for her. What was she to do except drown her sorrows in bottles of whiskey?

She looked back at her glass and the empty whiskey bottle in front of her. She felt around in her pockets and found nothing. She was out of caps. Cass decided that she would use her… charm on the next person to walk through the door so that she could get some free whiskey or caps. A warm breeze overtook the bar as someone opened the heavy metal door to the Mojave Outpost Barracks. A man entered; Cass paid no attention to him at first.

"What would you like, hun?" The bartender, Lacey, asked him.

"A bottle of whiskey," the stranger answered as he sat next to Cass at the bar.

Cass lifted her head up at the mention of the drink and tried to look uninterested in what was going on. She still managed to catch a glimpse of him. The man was wearing combat armor colored in green camouflage; a dark green camouflaged chest plate covered his upper torso, dark green camouflaged shoulder pads and knee pads protected his broad shoulders and knees, brown pouches laced a leather utility belt that circled his waist, and a green cloth shirt and pants, that wrapped tightly around his skin, was underneath it all. The armor had scrapes and scratches from past engagements the man had endured. He was also wearing a cowboy hat with the sides curved up, similar to Cass', and it covered the chestnut colored hair underneath. A rough beard covered half his face, which gave him a shady appearance, and sunglasses protected his eyes from unwanted viewers. A silver .357 magnum revolver rested in a slick, black leather holster. Stars were engraved on the revolver's barrel and an eagle was engraved on the revolver's mahogany handle. The man was shady, unpredictable and seemed dangerous… Cass liked him already.

Lacey placed a glass and a bottle whiskey near the man. "Here you go. That'll be five caps," she said with a smile as the man paid her the caps.

The man uncorked the bottle and poured some whiskey into his glass. He drank half the glass and set it aside.

"Think there's enough in that bottle for two?" Cass asked, glass in hand. She tried to look as innocent as possible and tried to use her dazzling looks to seduce him. The man just looked at Cass, her reflection in the sunglasses looking back. At first, he seemed surprised, almost insulted at the question. But, his demeanor changed as a smile came across his face. He then felt for one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter with an eagle engraved on the side. He pushed the old bottle of whiskey towards Cass.

"My treat," He said as he took one of the cigarettes out of the pack and lit it.

Cass gladly took the bottle of whiskey and poured herself another glass and began to down it, sip after sip; the warm liquid warmed her throat and stomach. The man watched her, occasionally puffing out small clouds of smoke.

"What's your name?" The man finally asked.

Cass looked up from her glass of whiskey. "Are you talking to me?"

"Yeah, I'm talking to you, the woman who tried to use her looks to mooch off of me for whiskey."

"Ha, you're funny. I like that," Cass said with a small smile. "My name is Rose of Sharon Cassidy. Everyone calls me 'Cass'."

"Well," the man puffed out a ring of smoke, "Rose of Sharon Cassidy, what is a beautiful, delicate flower like you doing in a place like this?"

"Beautiful? Yeah, I am. Delicate? No, I'm not. I've shot my fair share of people and critters in my time and I'm not going to stop anytime soon. As for why I'm here… I was thinking about heading back west. I just got held up here for a few days. What is a delicate flower like you doing?"

The man looked at Cass, his smile faded and gone. He removed his glasses, revealing deep pools of blue, and clipped the glasses on top edge of his combat armor. He swiveled the barstool around and faced Cass. Their eyes met for a minute. Cass felt something… she didn't know what it was, but it was something.

"Now, that," he began, "is a good question. For you to understand why I'm here, we're going to have to dive into my past. A past I've tried forgetting… but, you can't erase what's been written in ink." The two stayed quiet for a minute and tended to their glasses of whiskey. The man spoke up after awhile. "My livelihood was destroyed. I had to move on, I tried to move on… but, I couldn't. Now, to force myself to move on, I'm going to take care of the man who destroyed my life."

"Kind of sounds like what happened to me…" Cass took a swig of whiskey from her glass.

The man looked at Cass quizzically. "What happened?"

"My caravan was destroyed," she said as she drank some more of the whiskey, "Burned to ash… well, disintegrated is more like it. It was a conspiracy dreamed up by Alice McLafferty, of the Crimson Caravan Company, to take out any company that's in competition with her company. She got the Van Graff family in on it too. They both took out my caravan, along with some others. Well, my caravan is no more, so, I had to sell Cassidy Caravans, what was left of it anyway."

"That's it? You just sold your company? You didn't put up a fight?"

"Hey, I didn't want to sell it," an irritated tone echoed in Cass' voice, "It's not like I had a choice. It was destroyed. Besides, I feel kind of better knowing that I don't have that kind of weight on my conscience anymore. Its like an enormous weight has been taken off my chest."

"So, you just let Alice and the Van Graffs win?" The man asked, taking a swig of his whiskey and puffing on the cigarette.

"I _was_ going to kill them for it, and bring justice to my men and others they have murdered, but that same friend, who helped expose them, showed me there were better ways of dealing with Alice and the Van Graffs. We framed them. Now, they have to deal with the NCR and that'll be worse than any bullet. Payback's a bitch." Cass took in another swallow of the hard liquor. A small drop fell onto her chin. She wiped it away with the sleeve of her brown leather jacket.

The man nodded. "I would like to frame the man who destroyed my life. But, what he did… framing him just wouldn't be enough." The man removed the cigarette from his mouth and took a swig of whiskey from his glass.

"What exactly did this man do?" Cass asked, looking deep into the stranger's eyes.

The stranger sighed, "We're going to need a lot of whiskey for this story."

Cass picked up the three-fourths full bottle of whiskey that was sitting between them. "I think we have enough," she said, smiling.

The man smiled weakly. He heaved a big sigh. "I'm sorry. I just... its just hard to talk about," the man wiped a tear away from his eye.

Cass nodded solemnly. "That's alright, I understand." She said.

"Yeah…" The man downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp and smothered his cigarette in the ash tray, putting it out. He stood, grabbed the strap of his bag, swung it on his back, and he grabbed his assault rifle and headed straight for the door. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Cass," he turned back to Cass, "but I have to keep moving; it's a long way to where I need to go to find out where this man is. Goodbye." The man said as he opened the door, flushing the barracks with the warm air from the Mojave.

Cass watched him as he left. She shed no tears for the man. But, for some reason, she felt sorrow for him. She just wished she could help… she felt an urge to go with him. Cass drank the last bit of whiskey in her glass, grabbed her bag and the Caravan Shotgun leaning against the bar and she bolted out the door to catch up with the stranger. She jogged past the gated perimeter keeping the barracks and offices, past the statue of the Ranger and NCR Trooper shaking hands, and down the steep slope.

_God, he moves_ _fast_, Cass thought to herself as she caught up to the man, who was already half way down the slope. "Hey! Wait up!" She called. The man stopped and turned around to face the person calling out. Cass jogged up to him, out of breath. She said, doubled over and gasping for air, "Hey… you mind… if…"

"You travel with me? Sure, you can come with me," the man said, smiling as he answered her question before she could even ask it. "Just don't expect me to pay for every drink along the way."

Cass looked up and smiled, "You're funny… I like that."

"Come on," the man chuckled, "Oh, and my name is Colt Spiritson by the way. But, you can call me Colt."

Cass nodded. The two began their long trek. They turned onto the south end of I-15 and started towards Nipton; the first of many destinations along their route to the diamond in the rough, New Vegas. There, Colt would find out where the man was and exact his revenge on the man who murdered his family and destroyed his life.

_At least_, Colt thought to himself, _I won't have to do this alone_. He turned back to Cass and smiled. Cass smiled back.

**NOTE: Just want to say thank you for reading the first chapter of my first ever fanfic. Please, by all means, tell me how it was and what I could do to make it better. Criticism is welcome just as long as its constructive. No harsh comments, please, as this is my first fanfic. Once again, thank you for reading and I hope you continue reading.**


	2. Showdown in Nipton

The intense heat of the Mojave, trapped in the black asphalt of the road, burned through Colt's boots and dispersed to the rest of his body. Beads of sweat, caused by the heat and the feeling of anxiety, dripped down Colt's face. Despite all of the heat, Colt felt better knowing that he had a friend traveling with him. An unexpected friend, but a friend nonetheless. They neared the town of Nipton. A small deserted settlement devoid of human life completely. It was the only way Colt could get to New Vegas without having to take on the Powder Gangers and Deathclaws head on. But, Colt still had a very ominous feeling about it… as if there was something waiting for the two companions.

They entered the town. The buildings were covered in soot; the remnants of past fires that burned here. Some of the building's doors and windows were boarded up. Colt guessed they did it for protection from Caesar's Legion, although, it didn't keep them out completely. The roads were covered with dried, black blood; blood of innocent people murdered to prove a point and to intimidate an enemy. Crosses made of old lamp posts and electrical poles dotted the roads. On the crosses were seared, decaying skeletons of the former inhabitants of Nipton. They were burned as they hung on them. They suffered a horrible death at the hands of a group lower than a bunch of tribals. They died in vain and as a threat to a nation they didn't care for and that didn't care for them. Colt felt sorrow for them; the same sorrow he felt for his family.

"We have to be careful here," Cass whispered. She brought Colt back to the world. He wiped away a tear that was beginning to form.

"Why?" Colt asked in a hushed tone.

"Legion raiders came through here and killed everyone."

"I heard someone already wiped 'em out. So, why do we have to be careful?"

"Because, Caesar's Legion are like cockroaches; you step on one and ten more fucking pop up."

Colt nodded. The two put their backs to the southern wall of the Nipton Trading Post. They slowly made their way to the eastern edge. Colt peeked around the corner of the building. The main road was dotted with more deserted buildings and crosses bearing skeletons. At the end of the main road was the town hall. The broken, cracked road was clear of any life. Colt made a motion for Cass to follow and they slowly made their way down the road. Their footsteps and the small pebbles and pieces of rubble they kicked up echoed in the empty town.

The two managed to get half way up the road when Colt noticed something strange. At first, the echo of the two sets of footsteps was quiet and subtle. But, as they walked farther down the road, the footsteps became louder and more pronounced; as if there were more than just two people walking. Colt stopped and motioned for Cass to stop as well.

"What is it?" Cass asked.

"Shhhh…"

Four sets of footsteps echoed out while the two stayed still. Colt and Cass tightened their grips on their weapons. Four men turned onto the main road from the right. They each carried a .44 magnum revolver and were dressed in black, leather jackets and blue denim jeans. Two of them wore black bandanas, a third wore a black cap, and the last, who seemed to be the leader, wore a pair of sunglasses. On their jacket's right breast was a small emblem of a rearing stallion; the emblem of The Stallions, the gang that Colt had been hunting for the past few years of his life. A quick movement on the town hall roof caught Colt's eye. Another man in a leather jacket was wielding a sniper rifle and taking up a sniping position.

Colt turned to Cass, "This probably isn't going to end well. Just let me handle the talking and when the bullets start flying, do as I say and we won't get killed. Understand?"

"Don't you worry about me," Cass said with a smirk, "I can handle myself."

The gang members walked down the main road and stopped a few yards away from the two travelers. The man with sunglasses looked at Cass and then Colt.

"You've come a long way Colt. You even managed to pick up a… girlfriend along the way," the leader said, looking at Cass.

"What do you want?" Colt asked before Cass could let out a smart remark that would surely get them both killed. Although, it was obvious what the gang member's wanted.

"The boss heard you were coming to kill him," a devilish grin came across the leader's face, "he just wanted us to finish the job we started a couple years ago."

"So, what, you're going to kill us?" Cass asked.

"Oh, no, darlin'. We're going to just kill Colt here. You, on the other hand," the leader's grin grew wider, "I'm sure the boys would love to have a girl around the camp."

"Well, you're going to have a hard time getting me there."

The leader laughed, "That's what they all say." He drew his pistol and shot a bullet at Colt.

Colt foresaw the move and just barely managed to dodge the bullet. He felt the force built up around the bullet as it traveled inches past his head. Colt backed into cover behind a building to the left as the leader of the small raiding party started shooting off rounds at Colt. Cass backed into cover behind a building to the right. The rest of the gang members drew their revolvers and followed their leader by shooting random shots.

"They aren't the best shooters in the world, are they?" Cass yelled over the dischargement of firearms. She peeked around the corner and fired a buckshot round at one of the Stallions. The man with the cap took it full in the chest and he flew back a couple of feet before coming to rest in a pool of blood.

"Nope." Colt answered Cass as he peeked around the corner and fired a three round burst at one of the thugs. The three 5.56mm bullets landed with pin point accuracy on their target. Blood splashed out of the wounds and stained the gang member's jacket and the road. He grabbed his chest where the bullets landed and he slumped to the ground. He laid still for the rest of the fight.

The last two remaining members, the leader and one of the grunts, retreated backed to two piles of tires. There, they reloaded their weapons and continued to waste their ammo by firing off shots without any direction or target.

"We were pretty good shots when we shot them in the head, Colt! You remember, don't you? It wasn't that long ago!" The leader shot more rounds at Colt. Cass turned to Colt. What did this man mean? Her train of thought was interrupted by a bullet that chipped the edge of the building near her.

"You fucking bitch! Why don't you say that to my face?" Colt leaned around the corner of the building and fired four more rounds at the leader. All the rounds craved for blood but got rubber as they hit the pile of tires protecting the leader. Colt managed to get back into cover when a bullet from the sniper hit just above his head.

"I will… when you're on the ground covered in blood and we have that bitch of yours over there in ropes! We gonna have fun with her!" The leader fired off another volley of bullets, hitting everything except Colt.

"Oh, we're gonna have fun… when this buckshot meets your fucking chest and my boot meets your fucking face, you psychopath!" Cass held her shotgun out in the open and blindly fired another buckshot round. The round hit the tires the Stallions were using for cover and none of the metal beads hit their intended target.

Colt noticed that they would just be wasting ammo shooting at the tires. He signaled for Cass with a cutthroat motion and mouthed, "Its no use. Don't waste ammo." Cass nodded and held in cover.

"Oh, what's wrong? You've given up? Fucking pansies!" The leader yelled, shooting another six bullets.

"I'm sick of this guy," Colt said to himself as he dug into his bag and pulled out a spherical, metal object colored green; a hand grenade he found on a dead NCR Trooper. He was saving it for a rainy day… but how often does it rain in the desert? Colt threw the grenade up in the air and caught it, a grin wider than the Grand Canyon plastered on his face. He whistled for Cass and showed her the high explosive. She almost bust out into a riotous laugh, but managed to keep her composure and keep her cover.

Colt peeked around the corner to get a proper aim on his target but a bullet from the sniper forced him to retreat back. He whistled for Cass. She looked at him, waiting for her orders. Colt pointed up towards the roof of the town hall. Cass peeked around the corner and nodded. She stepped out and fired another buckshot round towards the sniper and went back into cover. Some of the thousands of metal beads inside the round struck the edge of the building. He stumbled back out fear and astonishment; giving Colt a chance to give the gang members a present.

"Hey, I got a present for you guys!" Colt yelled as he pulled the pin of the grenade, but held the primer down, preventing the grenade from exploding.

"Is it that cowgirl bitch of yours? I promise I'll treat her rough, just how they like it!" The gang leader called out, laughing a sadistic laugh.

"Nope. But, you're gonna get a real bang out of it!" Colt peeked around the corner and threw the live grenade towards the leader. The grenade landed just a few inches away from the man.

"What the fuck?" The leader called out as he fell back, flabbergasted at the grenade. He stumbled and stuttered, not knowing what to do. Then, he picked up the grenade, intending to throw it back. But he had waited too long to throw the explosive and only managed to lunge the grenade a few feet away before it exploded, sending a hail of shrapnel into his chest. The leader fell backwards, clutching his torso as dark red blood seeped out of his wounds, through his jacket, and onto his hands.

"Are you okay, boss?" The leftover thug asked his injured commander as he foolishly stood and left himself open.

"No, he's not," Cass said as she stepped out of cover and shot another buckshot round. The round hit the thug. Some of the shot hit his torso, but sixty percent of the beads struck his head, blowing a portion of his skull and jawbone apart. The thug fell to the ground limp, cold, and dead with blood pouring out of his open skull like a crimson Colorado River.

The sniper on the roof had regained his composure and was beginning to take aim on Cass, but, Colt stepped out of his cover and intervened with fate. He shot a three round burst at the sniper. Two of the bullets met their mark with deadly accuracy. The sniper hovered for a second as he clutched the impact area; his stomach and breast. Then, he fell from his perch and hit the ground below with a sick, bone shattering crunch.

The bullets stopped flying. The fighting had stopped. The town of Nipton was quiet once more; four new people added to the death that has taken place here. But, these four new people, who suffered untimely ends, deserved to die.

Colt gave Cass a motion to follow and the two moved into the town center, slowly, with their weapons at the ready for anymore surprises. They passed the four bodies of the dead Stallion thugs and stood looming over the, still alive, leader of the group like vultures flying over an injured coyote. The leader, lying in his own pool of deep red blood, grunted with pain and looked from Cass' eyes to Colt's. There was fear in his eyes; fear for his life. The same fear Colt's family and friends felt before...

"Well, it looks like you're the one lying in the pool of blood," Colt said to the injured man as he shouldered his assault rifle.

The leader desperately tried to reach for his revolver, but Cass laid her boot on the man's hand, stopping him, "No, you don't."

The former leader of the group yelped as Cass put pressure on his hand. The ear-deafening crack of bones breaking echoed out. The man screamed as his hand began to break underneath the pressure of Cass' foot. It was as if she was stepping on a twig.

"Alright, alright," Colt pulled Cass back a bit, "We need him alive, not dead. That much pain is going to kill him."

"Fine," Cass scoffed as she took her foot off the gang member's hand. The leader of the raiding group yelped as he retracted his hand and put it against his chest, as if it was going to help ease his pain.

"Now," Colt squatted next to the man. As Colt got closer, he saw tears in the man's eyes. Was this from pain or fear? Colt didn't know… but he was glad there tears in the man's eyes. "Who are you?"

"W-Why do you want to know who I am?" The Stallions gang member shuddered. Colt imagined he was in intense pain and that's why he was shuddering so violently.

"Because, it's easier to… deal with someone when you know their name. So, tell me, what's your name?"

"M-My n-name is I-Ivan." Ivan's shudder became worse and he started to turn pale.

"Right, we're going to have to make this quick," Colt said, sensing the change in Ivan's health.

"Why?" Cass asked as she bent down on the other side of Ivan.

"Because, he's losing a lot of blood and he's turning pale. He's getting ready to go into Hypovolemia, a type of shock, from the severe blood loss... and I can hardly understand what the fuck he's saying because he's shuddering from the pain caused by the chest full of shrapnel and you breaking his hand… nice work by the way," Colt let out a small smile.

Cass smiled back, "A girl can try."

"Y-You can t-try? Y-You c-can try t-to s-suck-" Colt sent Ivan into a screaming fit as he applied pressure to Ivan's near broken hand with his index finger.

"Now, now," Colt said with a soft chuckle, "we don't need that kind of language around a lady." Colt looked out of the corner of his eye; Cass' cheeks were a rosey red.

"O-O-Okay! O-O-Okay! J-Just stop!"

Colt lifted his finger off of Ivan's hand. Ivan started gasping harshly and hyperventilating.

"Alright, Ivan, tell me where the gang is headquartered."

"N-N-Now w-why would I-I d-do that?"

"You know," Cass put her finger to her chin, "I think this shithead is just stalling us until he goes into shock."

Ivan let out a shuttering laugh. "Y-You r-r-read m-me l-like an o-open b-book."

"Look," Colt pulled out his .357 magnum, the eagle engraving dug into his skin as he gripped it tightly, "Either you tell me where your boss is and we let you go free, and hopefully go into shock and die," he shoved the revolver's barrel into Ivan's mouth, "or I kill you right here and right now." Ivan's eyes grew wider.

"O-O-Okay, o-o-okay! I'll t-t-tell y-you." Ivan's answered, his voice muffled by the revolver's barrel. Colt removed the barrel. "A-Alright," Ivan took in sharp gasps and continued, "o-o-our b-base c-c-camp is in t-t-the E-Eldorado D-D-Dry L-Lake j-just n-n-north of N-N-Novac a-and H-H-Helios O-One."

"Good. Thanks for the information. You just saved us from having to take a really long trip." Colt stood and motioned with a jerk of his head for Cass to follow.

The two walked away from the broken man. Colt made it only a few feet away before he stopped, revolver still in hand. He turned back around to Ivan, who was struggling to stand up on his feet like an infant trying to walk. Cass realized Colt wasn't following and turned to see what the problem was; Colt was standing with his revolver pointed at Ivan.

Cass grabbed his arm, "Come on, you said you would let him live."

Colt looked back at Cass with a cold, heartless face, "No, this man is with that gang. They all need to die. None of them deserve to live for what they did," Colt turned back to Ivan who was looking at Colt with fear still in his eyes.

Colt cocked back the hammer of the revolver, ready to shoot. The fear in Ivan's eyes soaked into him. Was that the look his family members had in their eyes? A tear came to Colt's eye and he lowered the gun.

"Get out of here," Colt yelled. Ivan just stood and looked at the man who was ready to kill him. Colt wiped another tear from his eye. "Go, get! Before I change my mind and shoot you like the dog you are!"

Ivan stumbled forward. He regained his balance and jogged, limply away from the two. Colt watched the man as he jogged away, a trail of blood following him. Colt holstered his revolver and turned back to Cass. Cass had a hard look on her face; she was bewildered at why Colt was trying so hard to get rid of this gang.

Colt pointed a finger at her, "I'm telling you; if we find the leader of the Stallions, he's not going to be left alive. I will kill him." Cass solemnly nodded. "Come on," Colt said, motioning for Cass to follow, "let's get going."

The two set off; their next stop, Novac. As they walked to Novac, Colt thought about why he spared that Stallion bastard. Was it out of pity? Out of sorrow? Out of… love? If Cass hadn't have said something, Colt, more than likely, would've killed Ivan without a second thought. Does he have feelings for Cass? She has been the only one he could truly connect with. She's felt his pain. She knows what its like to lose everything and she knows what its like to wander aimlessly without any thought or doubt. Colt guessed that he might've finally found someone that understands him.


	3. The Past

The sun had set as Colt and Cass arrived at the partly deserted Novac. Inky blackness covered the land with the moon shining brightly and casting long, dark shadows. The town was quiet and asleep. The only source of light was from the main office of the Novac apartments. They strode past a deserted gas station and a small Brahmin ranch and walked into the main office to rent a room.

An old woman, Colt guessed she was in her early sixties, was sitting behind a counter in a semi-square to his immediate right. Cass went to sit on a chair that was a part of a waiting room arrangement and listen to the radio as Colt arranged the room.

"Ah, some new faces in town? I'm Jeannie May Crawford. You can call me Jeannie May," the woman said as she stood and stretched out her hand. Colt shook her hand. "Welcome to Novac. Would you like a room or…"

"Yes," Colt answered bluntly, "we just want a room. It's been a long couple of hours."

"Oh, I understand," Jeannie turned around to the wall and pulled a key off of one of the hooks, "it's tough out there in the Wasteland. Especially since the NCR took Hoover Dam and are making constant troop movements," she set the key on the counter, "Ten caps a night."

Colt dug into one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out a handful of caps. He counted out twenty and put the rest away. He dumped the twenty caps on the counter and took the key. "We'll be staying two nights."

Jeannie nodded as she scooped up the caps and put them away. "As you walk through the open gate, go up the set of stairs to your left and your room is the fourth door down. Enjoy your stay."

"Thank you, ma'am," Colt nodded, tipping his hat to the lady and he walked out the door with Cass following. They walked through the gate and turned to go up the stairs on their left when a door in front of them opened. A man stepped out of the far room and was striding across the motel's parking lot. He was wearing a white shirt, faded green pants, and a red NCR beret. Colt tipped his hat to the former NCR trooper, as he did to Jeannie May, but the man ignored Colt. He walked past, without a second glance, and strode towards the dinosaur that overlooked a small strip of 93.

Colt ignored the man's attitude and walked up the steps, with Cass, and along the patio. Walking past boarded up windows and doors with peeling red paint, they came to their room four doors down. Colt whipped out the key and unlocked the dark red door, twisting the cold brass knob to open it. He stepped over the threshold in to the muggy and humid motel room first and switched on the lights. Sickly green wallpaper was pasted to the walls, some of it torn in places. A window was next to the door and it was boarded up with decaying two-by-fours; no light was able to enter the closely nailed together wood. There was a single queen sized bed in the middle of the room with end tables on both sides. Bright blue covers and two white pillows rested on the worn out bed. In front of the bed was a broken Pre-War television sitting on a small table; what use it was to them, Colt didn't know. Off to the right, next to the door and in front of the window, was a small table with a radio and a small dining chair with torn, pale leather cushions. At the back of the room was a door leading to the bathroom, which consisted of the regular toilet, bathtub and sink.

Colt and Cass laid their weapons and bags on the bed. Cass made a beeline for the bathroom.

"I'm gonna take a bath," Cass said as she opened the door, which made a loud screech. Colt looked at her, nodded and sat on the rough, leather dining chair. "Unless, you want one first."

Colt looked up, "Nah, I'll be fine. I'm just gonna watch the door. In case any Stallions or anyone else decide to make an appearance."

Cass nodded once as she disappeared into the bathroom. After a few minutes, the water in the bathtub turned on and Colt felt the room, instantly, become exponentially more humid. Colt ignored the humidity and picked up the M16 assault rifle that he found in an Old War military base. There was a large stockpile of the standard issue, Pre-War military weapons there. He stole one of the slick, black assault rifles for himself and notified the NCR military about the rest of the stockpile. They generously paid him with a large sum of NCR money, which he had changed into caps when he got close to the Mojave Wasteland.

Colt ejected the curved clip out of the rifle and dug into one of the pouches that decorated his belt. He pulled out ten 5.56mm rounds and began reloading the clip with the brass bullets. After the clip was refilled, he slammed the clip back into the rifle and pulled the bolt back, loading the rifle's chamber with a brand new bullet. Colt switched the rifle's safety on and leaned it against the wall in a corner next to the bed. He then cleared off the bed and put both bags and Cass' shotgun in the same corner with the assault rifle. He sat back down in the chair and switched on the radio to Radio New Vegas.

"Mr. New Vegas here," the voice of the radio broadcaster called out as the radio switched on, "with the news. First, we have a wonderful bit of news in this dull, dull world. The NCR has taken Hoover Dam and pushed Caesar's Legion back into Colorado. General Oliver, who lead the battle for the NCR, declared that 'this was an enormous victory for the NCR and more victories are sure to follow as we push Caesar and his Legion farther and farther back into Colorado'. General Oliver also went on to thank a mysterious wanderer, our old friend the Courier, who helped NCR forces push back the Legion."

Colt pulled out his engraved lighter and his pack of cigarettes. He took out one of the cigarettes, stuck it in his mouth and lit it. After a few second of inhaling tobacco and nicotine, Colt removed the cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke. "Thank you, Courier," he said as he placed the cigarette back in his mouth and inhaled more tobacco.

"The Courier," the radio broadcaster continued, "Who has made quite a name for himself around the Wastes, helping people from Searchlight to Zion Canyon, moved into the Legion's forward base camp, with the help of a group of NCR Rangers, and killed Caesar's current Legate, Legate Lanius. With that, Caesar's Legion is currently without any military leadership and is in a full retreat. They abandoned The Fort, their over watch position of Hoover Dam, and are retreating back into Colorado. The NCR will raise their flag at The Fort tomorrow with the NCR's president, Kimball, in attendance along with other major NCR political and military leaders.

In related news, reports say that major NCR officials are talking about annexing our wonderful city, New Vegas, into the NCR before the month is out. That's all the news we have time for. Now, I leave you with a song that's my personal favorite, 'Ain't That a Kick in the Head'." The broadcast was cut off for a split second, but continued when the song began to play.

Colt puffed out another plum of smoke and then drew his revolver. He laid it out across his hands, inspecting it; it was dull in several areas. Colt turned around and began to dig into his bag and pulled out a bottle of polisher and a white rag. He uncorked the bottle, pressed the rag against the opening, and dipped the rag over and over again, soaking some of the rag in the polish. He began to rub the gun with the part of the wet rag, polishing it.

The water running in the bathroom stopped. After a few minutes of silence, Cass stepped out of the bathroom still in her torn blue jeans, faded pink plaid shirt, hat and rose pendant. She threw her jacket on one of the nightstands. Colt ignored her and continued to polish the revolver. Meanwhile, Cass slipped into the bed, underneath the covers and laid her head against the head board, looking up at the ceiling. After a minute or two, Colt felt her eyes shift from the ceiling to him and revolver.

"So," Cass began, "can you tell me what the Stallions actually did to have you track them half way across the southwest?"

Colt stopped polishing the revolver. Silence engulfed the room for a whole minute before he answered, "I already told you; they destroyed my livelihood. Now, I'm just trying to repay the favor."

"Colt, there's more to it than them destroying your ranch or shop," Cass said in a sincere tone, "They did more than that. I've traveled all this way with you. The least you could do is tell me exactly what they did."

Colt heaved a heavy sigh and set the revolver down on the table, the rag underneath. He removed the cigarette and began fiddling with it in his hands in an uneasy and unsure manner. He didn;t want to tell her the story... but she did come all this way with him. He d=owed her an eplanation.

"My family," Colt said as he held his head down and began his long story, "owned a ranch in the NCR. Spiritson Livestock n' Crops. We supplied three of the largest NCR states with food and other essentials. We helped a lot of people; a lot of good people. But…" he froze for a minute, his fists clenched tightly. Colt destroyed the cigarette he was holding and felt the burn of the embers, but ignored them. A cool tear cascaded down his face as he continued, "One day, when I was nineteen, I was away at Shady Sands, buying medical supplies that we were low on and that's when the Stallions came to the ranch. They burned the farmhouse, the barn, and the crops. Hell, they even burned the livestock," Colt wiped away a cold tear that was falling down his face, "Then they gathered my family and the ranch hands in the Brahmin pen, lined them up, and… shot them," Colt gasped, holding back waves of tears, "I got to the farm just as the gang was leaving. Do you know what they were doing as they left? They were laughing. Laughing at me as I broke down and cried. Laughing at the pile of bodies in the Brahmin pen. They laughed…" Colt turned and looked at Cass, another tear in his eye. Even though he was sorrowful, he had fury and fire in his eyes, "Now, I'm hunting them and I'm going to kill them. Every last one." He wiped the tear away, took another cigarette from the pack and lit it. He puffed out another cloud of the black smoke and continued to polish the revolver. "You reap what you sow; force answers force, war breeds war, and death only brings death. They want death? Then death is what they will get… and it will be brought to them by my hands."

Silence dominated the room once more. All that could be heard was the radio playing songs and the squeaking of the rag rubbing the polisher on the revolver. The anger still burned in Colt. He showed it by harshly polishing the revolver and the movements he made. Cass continued to watch Colt polish the weapon and noticed the anger he had towards the Stallions. Cass broke the silence, trying to change the subject from the past… but, the revolver was apart of Colt's past.

"Where'd you get that revolver?" Cass asked, still watching Colt.

Colt continued to polish the gun and puffing out smoke, "Where'd you get that pendant?"

"I asked you first."

Colt's mood changed and he let out a smile at Cass' childish antics. It didn't matter; he was glad that the subject changed from a painful past to a story he took pride in telling. He puffed out another plum of smoke.

"I got the revolver from my father and the lighter from my mother. They've both been in my family for generations. Every first born son is supposed to get the revolver from his father and the lighter from his mother when he turns eighteen. Luckily, I turned eighteen a year before the ranch was raided. Otherwise, I wouldn't have either," he finished polishing the revolver, laid the rag aside and took the revolver's handle in his right hand. He then picked up the silver, engraved lighter in the other hand and held them up for Cass to see, "You see, my great, great, great, great, grandfather, before the War, stole a block of silver from a mine he used to work at. Then, he took the block of silver to a gunsmith who made a chunk of it into a .357 magnum revolver and engraved the stars on the barrel and the eagle on the handle. There was a little bit of the silver left over, so, he had the rest made into a lighter and had the same eagle on the revolver's handle engraved into it. He gave it to his wife. That's how the tradition started.

They're two of a kind; made from the same block of silver. You can't have one without the other. The eagle," Colt pointed to the engraved eagle on both heirlooms with his thumbs, "represents the Spiritson's free spirit. Hell, that free spirit is the whole reason why my grandfather was able to have the damn things made... its also what made him legally change his name to Spiritson. My grandad was never fond of the name O'Rielly. Anyway, every Spiritson has a free spirit; it's in the genes, I guess. We've all been known to go out into the world, do what we want, and make names for ourselves. If you don't have a free spirit and you're name is Spiritson, then you're adopted," Cass let out a small smile at the joke. Colt did as well, "And the first born son, to continue the tradition of the father giving the revolver and the mother giving the lighter, gives the lighter to his wife when he's married. That's the whole story of these two of a kind items."

Colt set down the lighter. He turned and began rummaging around in his bag once more. After a minute of searching, he pulled out a small pipe cleaner he used to clean his weapons. He opened the revolver's cylinder and shoved the pipe cleaner up and down the barrel, cleaning it out. Colt was the one who broke the silence this time, "Now, can you tell me where you got that pendant? Ever since we left the Mojave Outpost, that thing has shined the damn sun in my eyes."

"This thing?" Cass asked as she picked up the pendant that was resting on her chest. "My father gave it to me. Goes along with my name 'Rose of Sharon Cassidy'."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Wow," Colt said, surprised at the short story, "I thought there'd be some kind of ancient tradition revolving around that pendant. Kinda like this revolver and lighter."

"Nope. My father gave it to me because of my name."

Colt nodded as he continued to clean out the revolver's barrel. He inhaled some more of the tobacco and blew out another cloud of smoke. "It's a nice pendant; very beautiful. It brings out your eyes."

"Thanks, but that flirting will get you nothing but a black eye," Cass remarked as she smiled.

Colt scoffed, "Your loss." He had begun to hum along to the song on the radio while cleaning the gun's barrel. He interrupted his humming with another question for Cass.

"Hey, Cass, what happened to your parents?" he stopped cleaning the revolver for a minute and turned around.

"My parents?" Cass started to mess with the pendant around her neck and continued her story in a low voice, "Well, my mom was a tribal and my dad was a wanderer. One day, my dad found my mom and they hit it off. Luckily, my dad was a horny old bastard or else I wouldn't be here."

Colt raised an eyebrow, "That's one way of putting it."

"Yeah," Cass smiled, "That's what everyone says. Anyway, after a while, they settled down. Well, my mom did. When I was young, my dad left for the East. We never saw him again. My mom became sick after that, but, she managed to live long enough to get me through my teens. After she died, I was on my own."

"Must've been a hard life. How'd you ever get along at such a young age?" Colt turned back around and continued to clean the inside of the revolver's barrel.

"I just traveled from place to place. I imagine you did the same."

"Yeah. Just traveling from town to town. It was in a bar in Hub where I heard about the Stallions fleeing NCR territory and coming here. So, I followed them into the Mojave. That's when I met you. But enough about me," Colt said, sick of remembering his past, "please, continue. How did you make money to support yourself?"

"Well," Cass said, continuing her story, "after I visited a town enough times, people got to know me more. Then they started asking me to deliver packages to other settlements and paying me money to do so. That's how I got started in the caravanning business; it just built up around me."

"I guess it got pretty big after that."

"Pretty damn big, yeah."

"You've must've met a lot of people on your travels."

"Yep," she stopped playing with the pendant and looked at Colt, "but no one quiet like you."

"Are you flirting with me, Miss Cassidy?" Colt asked as he stopped cleaning the weapon, turned around again and smiled.

"No, but if you take it as anything other than words, you're going to get that black eye I mentioned earlier and that stupid grin's going to get wiped of your face," she answered. She eventually cracked into a smile, "But, there's something about you… I don't know what it is."

There was something about Cass... Colt didn't know what it was either until their eyes met. A connection was created; a connection that sparked embers as numerous as the stars. He didn't know what it truly was, but it was strong; stronger than the atomic bombs that dropped on the Mojave centuries ago. Unfortunately, Colt broke the connection, but, the embers still burned as he readied for bed.

Colt holstered his revolver and discarded the pipe cleaner to the floor. Removing the cigarette from his mouth, Colt smothered it in an ash tray and turned off the radio before Mr. New Vegas could start another news broadcast. He put the pack of cigarettes and the engraved lighter back in the pouch he pulled them out from. Then, he unhitched the clasp that was tightening the chest plating to his torso, allowing him to take deep breaths. He removed the chest plate and shoulder pads as one, stood up and draped the torso piece over the back of the rough, leather chair.

Then, he began to disassemble the rest of his armor as he sat on the bed. He mulled over many things as he did so. Even though they had a connection, Colt still wanted to know why Cass followed him. More importantly, he wanted to understand why they had this connection in the first place. He didn't even know how he felt about it. Colt didn't rightfully know the answers to these… well, except for how he felt about it… and it felt right to him. He couldn't answer what made her follow him or why they have this connection, but it all felt like it was meant to happen; that it needed to be. He knew better not to question it further… him meeting Cass was the only good thing to happen to him after his ranch was destroyed and his family was killed. Their meeting was the only ray of light in an entirely dark room.

Colt set the armor that protected his calves and knees on the dining chair's seat cushion. Then he rested his leather utility belt on top and slid his boots underneath the chair.

"Well," Colt said as stretched his arms out, "I think its time we get some sleep. We have to check out that lake bed tomorrow," he yawned as he got underneath the covers.

"Yeah," Cass said as she rolled over, putting her back to Colt, and turned off the light on the nightstand.

Colt turned off the light nearest him and closed his eyes, so he could get some sleep. The connection between him and Cass was strong and the imaginary embers still burned on the bed… but it wasn't strong enough to keep away the same nightmare he's had since the day he discovered the destroyed ranch.

He was standing in a field of black ash and rubble. His hands and face was covered in the ash and soot. He had shifted through the rubble, looking for something, someone who may have survived… but he found nothing. Ahead of him was a Brahmin pen, but there were no Brahmin inside. Instead, there was a pile of lifeless forms. A pile of bodies; men and women innocently murdered. Colt felt cold and he collapsed to his knees. A group of men were walking away from the pen. They wore black jackets and they laughed at the people they killed. They laughed at the teenage boy sitting in the rubble. They laughed… Colt pushed his hands to his face, trying to wipe away an endless wave of ice cold tears. Nothing could take away the cold; the coldness he felt for the loss of his family and friends.

All of a sudden, his body was flushed with a warming sensation. The ice cold left and it was replaced with a warm feeling. Colt opened his eyes from the nightmare; Cass had pressed her body against his and she wrapped her arm around his waist. Colt smiled, a warm tear fell down his cheek, and he placed his hand in hers. He closed his eyes and fell asleep once more. This time, he dreamt of a small farm. There lived a man, a woman, and their two children; a boy of eighteen years old and a girl of five. The son had just received a revolver from his father and a lighter from his mother. The little girl was wearing a rose pendant.

**A/N: Okay, I _may_ have tinkered with Cass' character a little bit, but it all sets up for the rest of the story. Oh, and I _may_ have taken a little quote from a game/book I like. Yes, the quote "You reap what you sow; force answers force, war breeds war, and death only brings death" came from Metro: 2033. It sounded like it applied greatly here and that it would fit beautifully with the rest of the story, so, I put it in... that basically means, for knowing the quote, Colt has read and is a fan of Metro: 2033 ;)**


	4. The Kidnapping

Colt was awakened from his dream by a cool breeze of air that flushed from his feet and over his head. Before, the room was muggy and overheated. But now, it was as cool as the air conditioned Mojave Outpost. This is especially strange considering these motel rooms weren't air conditioned. So, what was causing this cold air? Colt lifted his head up, for fear of moving his body and waking up Cass who was still hugging him tightly. The door was wide open and a cool desert breeze blew in, making the edge of the bed sheets flutter. Colt looked back at Cass, who was in a deep sleep and snoring, and then back at the door. The fear crept into him and his heart began to race.

_I know I didn't do it_, Colt thought to himself, _and if Cass is asleep… then who opened the damn door?_

It finally dawned on him and his eyes widened… Colt, quietly and subtly, removed Cass' arm from his waist. She groaned sleepily, jerked her arm free from Colt's grip and rolled over. Colt looked at his revolver, still in the black holster, on the table. He slowly slid his left leg off the bed and onto the still warm floor and then he swung his right leg off the bed and made contact with the shaggy rug. A loud screech pierced the night air. Colt froze. Someone had opened the bathroom door.

Colt sat on the bed, frozen in fear. He kept his eye on the revolver, which glistened in what little moonlight that came in through the door. He would have to be quick or else him and Cass would both suffer the consequences. Colt took in a deep breath of the cold air… then he jumped off the bed and went for the revolver. A silent ping rang out; the ping of a bullet leaving a silenced weapon. Colt felt a searing pain in his right calf as he fell forward, with the revolver just a few inches out of his reach. A bullet had penetrated deep into his leg and the crimson blood was pouring out of the wound. He let out a muffled scream as he held his hand against the oozing bullet hole.

Cass awoke and sat up in the bed at the sound of Colt hitting the floor. She looked over the edge of the bed and at Colt, who was lying on the floor, blood seeping out of the wound from in between his fingers and onto the floor.

"What the fuck happened?" She yelled with a look of horror on her face. Colt managed to raise a shaking, crimson colored hand towards the bathroom. Cass didn't even get a chance to look before a dart landed on her arm. She yelped as it pierced her skin. Then, almost immediately, she fell limp on the bed; knocked out by whatever liquid that was in the dart.

"Cass," Colt said in a low moan. He tried to reach for the revolver, but it was just out of his reach. Two men emerged out of the darkness near the bathroom; both dressed in ski masks and leather jackets with rearing stallion emblems on their right breasts. Colt's heart raced as he eyed the gang members and saw their patches. Rage coursed through his veins like hot lava. He tried, desperately, to reach for the silver revolver. His muscles strained like leather as he stretched his arm as far as it could. A cold tear cascaded down his cheek.

The two men ignored the struggling man on the floor and walked to Cass' limp body. They bonded her hands and legs and stuffed a gag in her mouth. Then, they stuffed her, feet first, into a dark burlap sack and tied it up. One of the men picked her up and draped her body over his shoulder. They headed for the door.

One of the kidnappers rubbed his torso and he had a bandage on one of his hands. The man with the bandage stopped and looked at Colt, who was still struggling to reach the revolver. The bandaged man walked towards Colt and stood looming over him. Colt looked up at the man.

"Good, I want you to look at me," the man said, with an all too familiar voice. He removed his mask and revealed his face; it was Ivan. He kicked Colt's hand down, picked up the revolver on the table and threw it across the room. The heavy silver gun landed on the floor with a thud. Ivan bent down and looked Colt deep in the eyes. Ivan's eyes were filled with pleasure, "I was a pretty damn good shot when I shot your father, mother, and brother in the head, Colt," Colt looked down at the floor, more cold tears streamed down his face, "Look at me!" I van kicked Colt over and onto his back so that he was looking up at the ceiling. Ivan stood further over Colt and looked him in the eyes again, "I told you I would say it while you were lying in a pool of blood," he turned around and pointed to the other gang member who was waiting in the doorway, holding Cass, "and we got that cowgirl bitch of yours too," Ivan slapped Colt a couple time on the face, "See you around, buddy."

Ivan stood and headed for the door. Colt's vision began to fade. He looked down at the floor; a thin layer of his dark red blood caked the floor. He was losing too much blood and was going to pass out… and probably die.

The other kidnapper stopped Ivan and pointed to Colt with his free hand, "Ivan, Aleksander said we are supposed to kill him."

Ivan turned back to Colt, who was lying on his back and trying to stay awake, "There's no need to waste our ammo; he'll die of blood loss in a few hours."

"But," Ivan's worried accomplice piped up, "what if he yells? Isn't there a night guard? Didn't Aleksander say to avoid him because he was an ex-NCR sniper?"

"No, no, that night guard is with that 'Courier' guy. Besides," Ivan smiled and turned back to Colt, "Colt's too weak to do anything. He'll faint and then go into a coma and probably die. Now, let's get going; I want to be at the camp when the cowgirl wakes up so I can try her out."

The accomplice laughed, "You're a sly dog, Ivan."

The two kidnappers took their leave. Colt was left in a pool of blood, fading in between worlds. He couldn't hold on; he was losing too much blood. He pressed his hand against his wound, trying to slow the blood flow. But he was too weak to hold the muscle in his arms up and it fell, limp, to the floor. He had to hold on… for Cass… but his eye lids were too heavy…

"Cass…" Colt said, weakly, as he closed his eye and fell into a long, dark and bitter cold sleep.


	5. The Next Day

"Cass!" Colt yelled as he jolted forward and sat up in the bed. He felt a stinging sensation roll up his injured limb, into his torso, and into the back of his membrane. He clutched the area the pain originated from. Rough, coarse bandages scrapped against his hand and the area he felt was sensitive to the touch.

"Calm down or you'll open your wounds," a man with a rugged voice said. Colt looked up through the eye-blinding, mind-numbing pain that shocked his nervous system. The man Cass and Colt passed on their way to their motel room was sitting in front of him at a small table. The man was cutting up a Brahmin steak and sipping from a glass full of clear water.

"Who the fuck are you and where the fuck am I?" Colt asked, taking in his surroundings. He wasn't in his own motel room, but, he was in a different one. Although, there wasn't much difference except the way the furniture was organized and how the door and window were positioned. The door was in the far right corner with the boarded up window next to it. The bed was right in front of the window. Little rays of sunlight peeked in and smothered the bed in golden beams. The table and chair was right in front of the bed. The rest of the room was empty. Besides the arrangement of the motel room, Colt even noticed that he was out of his old clothes and was in a dark gray t-shirt and black shorts.

"You're still in Novac; you're just in my motel room. And my name is Boone. Craig Boone," the man said, answering Colt's question while still eating the steak.

"How'd I get here in your room?" Colt further inquired. He leaned back, resting his back on the bed's back board and easing the pain in his injured leg.

Boone set down his knife and fork and turned to Colt, "Well," he began, his sunglasses covering all emotion, "I was up in the dinosaur when I heard someone yell out. So, I came down and investigated. Your motel room door was wide open and I came up to see why; you were knocked out cold on the floor, lying in a puddle of blood. I picked you up, placed you on your bed and patched your wound up as best as I could," Colt rubbed the bandage covering his bullet wound and twitched at the pain that slightly jolted his leg, "Damn good job if I do say so myself," Boone went back to eating his steak, "and then, I carried you here, to my room, so you wouldn't have to rest in that blood soaked room of yours. Jeannie May's in there right now, cleaning it up."

Colt looked down, remembering everything that had happened… "Cass!" He said, jolting forward again. Pain, once more, seared his body. He grimaced at the pain, but kept his upper body in an upright position.

Boone, with a mouthful of steak, stopped eating and looked at Colt. "What?"

"Cass! The woman I arrived here with! Did you see her around when you were coming to my room?"

Boone looked down and said in a low voice, "No, I only found you."

Colt just looked at Boone in disbelief. A cool tear came to his eye and he hung his head low. Cass was gone and he would probably never see her again. All hope was drained from him…

He lifted his head up. _The El Dorado Dry Lake,_ Colt thought to himself and a spark was lit deep inside his core. He needed to get to that lake bed.

Colt held his wound, hoping it would dull the pain as he swung his left leg off the side of the bed. Then he braced himself as he swung his injured right leg off the side and touched the shaggy rug. A shock ran up his leg again, like a tidal wave, but he shoved it to the back of his mind. Colt winced at the increased pain, but he fought through it and tried to stand up. His leg was too weak and his injured muscles strained to support his weight. The pain shook his leg as another wave traveled up into his mind. Colt stumbled forward and collapsed under the sheer pain, but managed to catch himself on the night stand and support his body before he could fall onto the floor completely. A lamp, which was on the night stand, fell and shattered as it struck the floor.

Boone looked up at the shatter of the lamp. "What the Hell are you doing?" He jumped up and hurried to Colt's side. Boone grabbed Colt's arm and supported the weight of the injured man and helped him back onto the bed. "Your leg is too weak. You can't travel in its current state."

Colt looked past the sunglasses and into Boone's eyes, "I have to travel. I have to find Cass." Colt tried to stand once more, but he was forced back down by Boone.

"Not in the state you're in. You'll do more harm than good."

"No!" Colt yelled as he pushed Boone off of him and to the floor. "I have to find Cass!" The desperate man tried to stand once more, his leg shaking wildly with pain. He managed to keep his composure and stand up straight. But he only stood for a good minute before the burning sensation, that was punishing his right calf, became too much and he collapsed onto the bed once more. That minute or two of standing on his own was just enough to prove himself to Boone.

Boone sighed, "What happened to this 'Cass'?" he asked as he stood himself up.

"She was kidnapped," Colt answered through gritted teeth, rubbing the searing hot wound on his leg, remembering what happened the night before, "By a group I have history with."

Boone nodded, solemnly, "I understand. I understand all too well. I know what its like to have someone stolen from you," he said as he walked back over to the table and bent down to go underneath it. He pulled out Colt's bag and threw it on the bed. "Get yourself ready and I guess I'll help you find Cass. I don't have much to do anyway."

Colt nodded as he pulled the bag towards him and opened it. His green camouflaged combat armor, green cloth shirt and pants, the leather utility belt and his black boots were the first things he pulled out. But, he continued to rummage around in the sack, pushing aside bottles of whiskey, Rad Away, Rad-X, cartons of bullets and spare, empty clips for his assault rifle. Eventually, he found what he was looking for; his revolver. The rough leather of the holster and smooth silver of the revolver was cool against his hand as he pulled it out. He set the revolver and its holster to the side for just a minute.

Colt slipped on the cloth shirt and pants; they fit tightly against his skin and helped cool his body down as air breathed through the pores. The air was trapped and helped regulate the wearer's body temperature. This kind of cloth was issued by the Pre-War military to help keep their soldiers cool or warm under certain climate conditions. It was the main reason why Colt didn't die of heat stroke on his long journey from Hub to the Mojave Outpost.

After the shirt and pants were on, Colt slipped on the two armor plates that protected his calves. He winced as the right plate passed over his wound and as it applied pressure when he hitched the clasp, tightening it to his body. Next, he slipped on the knee pads, boots, and tightened the utility belt around his waist. Colt put on his chest plating and shoulder pads next. The chest plating restricted his air flow as he hitched the middle clasp, tightening the plating to his body. Finally, he scooped up his revolver and hitched the holster to a blank spot on the right side of his belt.

Fully dressed in his armor, Colt stood. His armor weighed him down more than before; mainly because he was weak from the loss of blood. It wasn't going to stop him though. He needed to find Cass.

Colt felt an irregular bulge in one of the pouches on his belt. Upon investigation into the pouch, he found his pair of sunglasses and his sliver, engraved lighter. He let out a relieved sigh as he left the lighter in his pouch and pulled out the sunglasses, placing them over his eyes. Boone threw something else towards Colt; it was his hat.

"Can't forget about this," Colt said as he put the worn out hat on his chestnut hair and ran his index finger along the edge.

"Can't forget about this either," Boone commented as he tossed Colt's M16 assault rifle on the bed.

Colt let out a soft chuckle, "Nope, can't forget about this at all. I'm going to need it," he said as pulled back the bolt and made sure there was a bullet in the chamber. The brass shined in the ray of sun that hit it. Colt released the bolt, allowing it to slam shut with a metallic click.

"Oh, and here, I don't think you would want to forget this," Boone set down another bag and a shotgun on the bed; Cass' rucksack and shotgun.

Colt's smile disappeared as he was taken over by heartache at the sight of the two items. He set down his assault rifle and picked up Cass' bag. He held it just for a minute before he put on the bag, which was considerably lighter than his own, and shouldered Cass' shotgun.

"Can you carry my bag?" Colt asked Boone as he picked up his assault rifle.

Boone strapped on a bandolier and put Colt's bag on his back. "Damn, this thing is heavy. What in the world do you have in here?" Boone asked, moving his shoulders, trying to get a feel for having the bag on his back.

"Medical supplies, food, drinks, anything I would need on the trail. You ready?" Colt asked as he walked over to Boone and the door. He had a limp in his step and a burn in his calf, but he felt fine overall.

"Do you have any Stimpaks? We could use them to fix that wound of yours."

"No," Colt answered quickly and bluntly, "I don't use them and don't like them. I hate any kind of drug. If anything, I use the Stimpaks I do have for other people I might come across. Now, are you ready?"

"Yeah, let's go," Boone grabbed a Hunting Rifle leaning against the wall next to the door. "Where are we going, exactly?" He asked, opening the door.

"To the El Dorado Dry Lake just north of Helios One."

**A/N: I'm sorry that it took so long to upload a new chapter. I was unable to access a computer for the past few days and I wasn't able to do so. As always, please review and tell me any faults or whether you like it or hate it. I hope you enjoyed reading and continue to read!**


	6. Investigating the El Dorado Dry Lake

Colt and Boone crouched as they approached the edge of a small cliff. A billboard, that advertised Helios One and Hoover Dam, was behind them and it cast a long shadow over the two. The putrid fumes of chemical waste and overheated, out-dated gasoline emitted from the El Dorado Gas and Serve. Colt ignored the smell as he followed Boone's lead, who was already lying prone and creeping forward. They crawled to the edge of a rocky cliff that tore a portion of Interstate 93 in half and had a whole view of the dry lakebed.

"I can't see a damn thing. Can you?" Colt asked as he squinted, trying to examine the lakebed from afar.

"Yeah, just barely," Boone answered quietly as he kept his eye to the scope of his rifle.

"Do you see anything? People or maybe a camp?"

It took awhile for Boone to answer; he just remained quiet. After a few moments, he took his rifle's scope away from his eye and slowly shook his head. Colt's heart began to sink.

"You're kidding, right? Give me that rifle," Colt motioned for the rifle. Boone handed the weapon to the desperate man and he peered through the scope. He scanned the lakebed over and over again, but he found nothing. There was no camp. There were no people. There was nothing on the lakebed. Hopelessness crept into Colt's body and overtook his mind. The gang wasn't there… which means Cass wasn't there. Colt slammed his fist on the ground in frustration and heartache, "Fuck! There isn't anyone there! Where the fuck did they go?"

"They probably moved out and left," Boone answered as he looked out at the lakebed, "Who told where the camp was?"

"One of the gang members me and Cass trapped back in Nipton. A man named 'Ivan'. He said it was here."

"One of the gang members told you?" Boone raised an eyebrow. "And you believed him?"

"He told us out of fear for his life."

"Fear makes men do things they would never normally do. Like lie so they can live another day."

"Love makes you do funny things too."

Silence overtook the two for a few moments before Boone spoke up, "So," he said, switching the conversation back to the lakebed, "you want to go check it out?"

"Yeah," Colt answered as he scanned the lakebed once more. Something caught his eye. Down on the floor in the middle of the dry lake was a small pile of dark rocks. The way the rocks were arranged is what really got Colt's attention; it was if they were arranged to be some sort of barrier, like that of a barrier you put around a campfire. "I think I've found a campfire," Colt said as he handed the rifle back to Boone.

"A campfire?" Colt nodded and pointed in the general direction of where he saw the campfire. Boone looked back into the rifle's scope, "That could be anyone's," he said with skepticism.

"Or, it could be the gang's campfire. We won't know until we investigate," Colt said as he stood and sat on the edge of the small cliff.

Boone nodded as he shouldered his rifle and sat on the edge of the cliff with Colt. "I guess you're right."

The two slid off the cliff and plunged to the ground three feet below. Pain jolted through Colt's leg as the shockwave of the landing sent pain up his leg. He held his hand to the stinging bullet wound, trying to stem the pain, and stumbled forward.

Boone caught Colt before he could fall. "You owe me one," he said as if he intended to smile, but didn't.

"Yeah, thanks," Colt grunted through gritted teeth. The pain felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing him with a sharp edged blade. His leg ached with pain, but not as much as his heart ached with sorrow. He fought through both pains, in hopes of finding Cass.

After a few minutes of holding his wound and Boone helping him keep his balance, the pain subsided and Colt was able to walk again. Boone and Colt continued to walk across two broken lanes of 93, with Colt limping worse than he did before. His limp was so bad that it caused him to misstep on several occasions and almost fall into the cracks in the road. Luckily, Colt was able to keep his balance by grabbing onto Boone's shoulder. They finally reached the edge of the road, where the lake meets the asphalt and just a lazy slope separated the two men from the cracked, dry lakebed.

Boone was the first to slide down the slope. He slid, right leg first, and came to the end without fault. Now, it was Colt's turn. Colt put his uninjured left leg forward and braced himself for any pain as he slid down the embankment and into the lakebed. He had a few jolts of pain and wobbled a little on his way down, but he managed to keep into the slide. As he came to the end of the slope, he lost his balance, due to a severe stab of pain, and nearly fell forward onto his face, but Boone caught him before he could make contact with the ground.

"You owe me two," Boone said, helping Colt stand up straight again.

"Just put it on my tab," Colt remarked, clutching the wound as pain overtook his calf with the quick movements.

After the pain in Colt's leg subsided once more, which only took a minute or two, the two continued towards the suspected campsite. The ground crunched underneath Colt's feet. The ground's brittle nature, caused by the intense heat and, more than likely, the nuclear fire and radiation of the atomic bombs that fell on the Mojave, made it sound as if Colt were walking on snow.

They arrived at the campsite within moments. It was nothing more than a circle of rocks with a stack of decaying, black, and burnt wood in the middle of the small circle of rocks. A small stream of smoke drifted up from the burnt wood.

"See anything?" Boone asked as he walked around the perimeter of the old campfire.

"Nope. Damn, there's nothing here at all," Colt answered as he bent down in the sand.

Colt rubbed his hand over his face and under his glasses. All the hope he had before was completely drained from him. He finally decided to face the facts that he's lost the Stallions; the trail had gone cold. A cold tear came to his eye as he realized that this meant he may never see Cass again. He had finally come to know this fear that had haunted him… until something in the sand shined a ray of sunlight past his glasses and into his eye.

Colt sheltered his eyes from the reflected sunlight and looked down at the source. There was something resting in the sand and dirt. Colt pushed the sand away and uncovered the object; it was a necklace of sorts. It looked very familiar. He picked it up and examined it further; in the middle of the pendant was a rose.

"They were here," he twirled the pendant around in his fingers.

"What makes you so sure?" Boone asked, turning to Colt.

"Because… I found this," Colt answered, holding up Cass' rose pendant.


	7. The Rifle, The Revolver and The Gauntlet

**A/N: Okay, I'm not _completely _happy with this chapter. Personally, I think I could've done better, but, after thinking it over for a few days, this is what I got. Enjoy and, please, tell me what _you _think of it! Thanks for reading!**

It was late afternoon and the sun was just on the crest of the horizon. The sky was covered in a spectacular orange and peach color mixed with dazzling crimson and with white wisps of clouds that spread across the open sky. The setting sun cast long shadows of everything its deep golden rays touched. The Wasteland truly was beautiful… at least when it wasn't trying to kill you or destroy your life.

Colt didn't get to take in this beauty as he thought of what to do next in his search for Cass and her kidnappers. Of course, he and Boone already had a location; New Vegas. They were heading to the bright lights and glamour of the city because of a clue etched into the back of Cass' rose pendant. The clue? Two letters that seemed to be etched in with a rock or some other type of mineral. The two letters were _NV_. Colt took it as a sign from Cass and managed to convince Boone to trek along with him so that they could find the kidnapped woman and the gang.

The two walked up the ramp to the overpass pit stop known as the 188 Trading Post. The 188 was a patched up rest stop where traders, travelers, NCR citizens and troopers stopped in on their way to and from Vegas. The main two buildings were made of pieces of buses; one piece was used as a storeroom and the other was tipped on its side and had a wooden makeshift bar around it. Colt and Boone headed for the bar, all the while passing the storeroom, which was occupied with boxes and a bed with a man sleeping on it, a group of NCR troopers who were having a small discussion while sitting at a decaying picnic table, two men, draped in leather armor, who were pitching an old tent, and a man and woman eating at another picnic table.

Boone and Colt also passed a woman who was looking towards the west. She was wearing old, green, shaggy robes and had, what looked like, a pneumatic gauntlet on her hand. Colt ignored her, thinking she was just another traveler, and took a seat next to Boone at the bar. As soon as he sat down, Colt removed his hat and placed it on the bar counter. He brushed his hand through his chestnut hair, letting his scalp breathe for the first time since he left Novac.

A woman behind the bar addressed the two men, "What would you two gentlemen like this evening?"

"We're fine," Boone answered as he waved her off, "You sure we can follow this mysterious etching? It seems kind of shady to me," Boone asked, turning to Colt. As soon as Boone said something, Colt felt eyes turn on him; as if someone was watching him and Boone. He just shook off the feeling.

"I'm sure we can follow it," Colt leaned in on the counter, "Do you think it's an ambush?"

"That's exactly what I think."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but those idiotic gang members thought I was dead. They wouldn't set up an ambush for a dead man. The question is," Colt continued as he scratched his chin and beard, "Why are they going to Vegas and how can we find them once we get there?"

"We could always go to the Courier. I'm sure he would know; those damned Securitrons keep track of everyone that comes in and out of the Vegas Strip. He took over the whole system, once House was killed, so that he could keep a look out for any enemies he made."

"Alright, we'll got to him and ask… if you're so sure about him."

"I don't like him, but he'll be our best shot at finding out where this gang went to."

At that instance, the woman that Colt and Boone passed on their way to the bar sat in the stool on Colt's right. She rested her elbow on the counter and her head in her hand and looked at the two men.

"Hi," the woman said nonchalantly.

Colt turned his head slowly to her, "Uh… hi," he responded, not sure why this woman would just walk up and talk to him.

"My name's Veronica," she said, turning the barstool to Colt and extending her hand. As she swung the barstool around, her knee made contact with Colt's right calf armor plating, pressing it against his wound. Searing pain rolled up from the wound and into his mind. It jolted and shocked his nervous system once more.

Colt held his hand to the wound and slammed his head on the counter, "Fuck me!" he yelled as the pain speared his leg.

"What? Excuse me, but I'm not that easy," Veronica scoffed as she rolled her eyes, "Men…"

"Its not that Veronica," Boone explained, turning to face her, "You hit a bullet wound he has on his right leg."

"Oh… hi Boone. It's nice to see you again."

"Hello!" Colt yelled as he lifted his head, "I'm in pain and you two are having a friendly conversation?"

"Ugh, some people are so rude."

"What? You're the one who interjected into our conversation! Then you hit my bullet wound and didn't even say sorry!"

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know you were shot," Veronica apologized. He saw it in her eyes; she didn't mean any harm. She was just trying to be funny and brighten everyone's day. She was just being nice... Colt felt like a bastard for acting the way he did.

"I-It's alright. I know you didn't mean to be rude or anything," Colt said, his cheeks turning a rosey red for his embarrassing overreaction, "It's just been a long couple days, is all."

"I just saw Boone over here," Veronica continued to explain, "So I decided to say 'hi'."

Colt lifted his head up further and remembered to earlier when Veronica first sat down; her and Boone were talking like old friends.

"Wait," Colt turned to Boone, "You know her?"

Boone looked at Veronica and then at Colt, "Yeah, but it's a long story."

"Then give me the short version."

Boone sighed, "Well, it began when the Courier recruited me in Novac. We traveled for a bit in the southern parts of the Mojave and, one day, we decided to head north and to New Vegas; he had to go there anyway. That's when we stopped here and he met," Boone gestured to the woman next to Colt, "Veronica. After that, he got drunk and we had a… disagreement. He told me to scram, so I left. I didn't really care."

"A 'disagreement'?" Veronica asked, almost laughing at the word, "You punched him in the face."

"The bastard insulted my wife. He deserved it."

"Okay," Colt exclaimed, interfering before the situation could escalate, "Clam down. Now, Veronica, you know this 'Courier'?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "Well, I _knew_ him before I decided to leave."

"Did you part on good terms?"

"Good enough. At least I didn't punch him," Veronica remarked, smiling and looking at Boone. Colt waved off Boone, who was getting ready to stand, and continued the conversation with Veronica. "What does it matter?" she asked, her head tilted slightly.

"Because," Colt dug into one of his pouches, pulled out Cass' pendant, thinking of her, and began to twirl it around in his fingers, "I need help finding a kidnapped friend of mine. It would've been a waste to go there and expect the Courier to do something for Boone. I need someone who can persuade him. You think you can help?"

"Yeah, sure, I can help. But, I have just one question; who was your friend?"

"A woman. A woman I care deeply about," a tear came to Colt's eye as he thought about Cass.

Veronica's eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of the pendant, "That's Cass' pendant!"

Colt looked up, surprised she even knew whom Cass was, "How do you know Cass?"

"The Courier picked her up from the Mojave Outpost. She didn't like him very much, though, you could tell just by how she looked at him when he was around. She spent a lot of time around the Lucky 38, not wanting to go with him. One day, they got into an argument and Cass knocked a tooth out of his mouth. She left after that. Anyway, how did you get a hold of her pendant?" Colt just let his head fall and looked down, his eyes closed. Veronica gasped, "Was she the one who was kidnapped?" Colt nodded solemnly. Veronica clapped her hand to her mouth, out of shock of how such a tough woman could get kidnapped. "How did it happen?"

Colt heaved a heavy sigh. He felt a cold tear come to his eye, but he held it back before it could trickle down his cheek, "It happened last night. Two men broke into our motel room, shot me, knocked her out with some kind of drug and kidnapped her."

"Oh my god. Who were the men?"

"One was named 'Ivan'. Don't know who his friend was. They were members of this gang I have a long history with. They're called the 'Stallions'," fire caught up in Colt's chest at the mention of the gang. But, he managed to extinguish it before continuing, "Boone and I went to that dry lakebed to the south because I had a lead the gang was supposed to be there, but, we didn't find anything. Well, we found this," Colt lifted up the pendant, "With two letters etched into the back; _NV_. I took it as sign from Cass and being the initials for 'New Vegas', so that's where we're heading and I plan on enlisting the Courier's help… that is, if you help us."

"Of course I will," Veronica said, reassuring Colt, "He owes me after I helped him with a little job the NCR needed done… and, I kinda like Cass. A little rough around the edges, but she was alright."

"Great," Colt felt a shimmer of hope generate in his mind. He might just be able to find Cass after all. His chances were getting better and better each and every day. "My name is Colt Spiritson, by the way," Colt said, extending his hand to Veronica.

She smiled and shook Colt's hand, "Veronica Santangelo."

The three talked for a while after that. Colt learned a lot during their conversation.

He learned a little about Boone, but not too much because he kept a lot of secrets. Boone was an ex-NCR First Recon sharpshooter. Colt was pretty damn lucky to have him around; Boone was an excellent shot after all… so long as he had a spotter. He also learned that Boone was married at some point, but became widowed as Legion slavers took his wife. He never went to look for her, like what Colt was doing for Cass. Although, the Courier helped exact revenge on the person who sold his wife. It turned out to be his former friend, Manny Vargas. Even though he knew who sold his wife, Boone thought she was dead.

"Chances are, she's probably dead. Legion slaves don't last long…" he commented while keeping his head low.

Colt changed the subject from the painful conversation and on to their new source of info on finding Cass, the Courier. His name was 'William Hans' and he was of German origin, although not from Germany directly. From what Veronica and Boone said about him, he sounded like a real bastard. William Hans was a suave talker who was more interested in chasing tail than the fate of the Mojave. That probably explains why he didn't keep many followers. Well, he didn't keep the ones that could think for themselves. After the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, William became a lazy good for nothing that drank and drank and drank until he passed out; the drinking even became too much for Cass. Hans resides in the Lucky 38, where he spends most of his time and only ever comes out to get more booze or to get laid.

"So much for the 'Savior of the Mojave'," Veronica commented, "He's all washed up now. But, maybe we can convince him to help us. It may be what he needs to get off his ass and do something other than kill his liver."

After the conversation about Hans, they moved on to Veronica. Hans picked her up at the 188… and tried to pick her up on the _way_ to Vegas. She kept shooting him down until she broke and confessed that she wasn't… _interested_… in men.

"It didn't stop him none," Veronica said, amused at how desperate he was, "The horny bastard tried even harder after I told him that."

Besides that she was a lesbian and that she thought Hans was a creeper, Colt also learned that Veronica was with the Brotherhood of Steel as a Scribe and "Procurement Specialist".

"Sounds important to me," Colt commented.

"Yeah, it _sounds_ important," Veronica scoffed at the comment, "It basically means 'grocery shopper'."

She didn't seem to like being a Brotherhood member… or the Brotherhood didn't like her being a member. Either way, Colt dropped the conversation and the three sat in silence for a few minutes before Veronica asked about Colt and what brought him so far from the NCR.

Colt braced himself to retell his story. He started with the destruction of his ranch and the death of his family and how he tracked the gang all the way to the Mojave. He held back tears as he told the story of his painful past. Then, he explained the confrontation in Nipton; how a small raiding party of the gang members found Colt and intercepted him and Cass at the small town. He explained the fight and how he got the information leading to the lakebed. Finally, he recollected about the kidnapping and attempted murder; how the gangsters came in during the night, shot Colt, and kidnapped Cass while leaving Colt to slowly die of blood loss.

"That sounds like quite the ordeal," Veronica said after the long story.

"It was," Colt commented, "It was an ordeal and, now, I have only one clue where this gang may or may not be… and I pray to God that they're there."

Colt flipped the pendant back and forth through his fingers throughout the conversation, thinking of Cass.

"Well, it's getting kind of late. I'm going to turn in for the night," Boone said as he stood from the stool.

"It is getting late," Veronica agreed, stretching her arms out.

Colt didn't even notice it, but the sun had set and the Mojave was covered in an inky blackness. A few lights were on around the 188, but that didn't stop the darkness from encasing most of the overpass. With the night came an empty trading post as everyone, travelers and soldiers alike, set up beds and tents for the night. Colt stood with Veronica and Boone and followed them to an old white trailer set up on the right side of the overpass.

They stepped up into the trailer and inside where four mattresses were spaced a foot or two apart. Colt claimed the far left mattress, Veronica took the one to the right of his and Boone took the mattress to the right of hers. Colt set Cass' bag, her shotgun, and his own assault rifle down next to the mattress. He didn't even bother to take off his armor; it was too much of a hassle taking it off and putting it back on, so, he laid down on the stiff mattress, fully dressed in his combat armor.

He constantly rolled over and over, trying to sleep, but couldn't. During the time he was awake, Colt thought about Cass. Whether or not if she was okay and what those crazed bastards were doing to her. At least, he didn't want to think about what they were doing to her.

_Don't worry_, Colt reassured himself, _She can handle herself_. He kept saying this over and over again in his mind.

Colt pulled out Cass' pendant once again and looked at it. All doubt was erased from his mind as he twirled the pendant around in his fingers. She was smart, tough, and knew how to fight. She'll be just fine. Colt fell asleep a few minutes later, with the pendant in the middle of his clenched fist.


	8. Freeside Fiasco Part 1

Colt, Boone, and Veronica arrived at the enormous gate to Freeside. They were tired, hungry, and thirsty. It was a long journey from the 188 Trading Post to Freeside and it took the trio a good three hours to get there. But Colt thought they shouldn't complain; it would've been longer and more exhausting if the roads weren't so well protected thanks to the NCR and Brotherhood of Steel.

But just because the NCR and Brotherhood protect the roads, doesn't mean one won't encounter the odd pack of raiders. In the trio's case, they encountered a group of Fiends on their trip. The group of four or five of the drug crazed maniacs were a bunch of stragglers that the NCR seemed to have missed in their attack on Vault 3. Based on the direction they were heading, they were trying to get as far away from their home vault as they could and, just as predicted of the druggies, they attacked the three travelers on sight. Even though they were outnumbered, Boone, Veronica, and Colt, with proper coordination and use of their skills, took out the group with ease.

First, Boone, with the skillful aiming he was renowned for in First Recon, landed a well-placed .308 round right into the Fiend leader's cranium, sending a fine red mist into the air. The other Fiends became disoriented and confused with their leader gone and they didn't know what to do.

That made Colt's job easier as he, thanks to the trigger discipline that he developed over his travels and his M16's incredible accuracy and power, placed three rounds a piece into two of the Fiends. They dropped, three red dots in each of their chests, and fell dead on the ground. That left two more Fiends who thought it was a brilliant idea to run to the trio with a baseball bat and golf club… it turned out that it wasn't a good idea.

Veronica, skillful with melee attacks, landed a punch on the Fiend with the bat, breaking his ribs as the heavy gauntlet landed on his chest. He fell to the ground with blood gushing out of his mouth from the punctured and injured organs in his torso. Veronica, then, turned and landed a punch on the other Fiend's skull, causing it to depress and show a dent in his head. He died instantly and fell to the ground, dead.

The fight lasted little more than five minutes and showed that teamwork actually works. The three worked well together and did so in such a way that it could be considered as art… an hour or so later, the three arrived at the gate to Freeside.

The gates creaked as they opened, exposing the three to the slums of the outer part of New Vegas known as 'Freeside'. Boone and Colt shouldered their weapons, Colt gave up his free shoulder so that his assault rifle could have a home, and they walked in. Veronica just looked down at her gauntlet, shrugged, and followed the two men.

"Careful around here," Boone warned, talking to Colt who had never been to New Vegas or Freeside, "These people will sooner kill and rob you without even a second glance."

"I'll keep my hand on my holster," Colt said, reassuring him.

They walked farther into Freeside, the big metal door, pieced together with scraps of metal and debris, closed behind them. An enormous, ruined building was to their immediate left; probably home to the junkies and the other miscreants that Freeside was known for. The rest of the buildings were boarded up or destroyed completely. Well, all the buildings were out of commission except for one; a store with a sign just above the door that read, in mismatched neon letters, "Mick and Ralph's".

"Hey, what store is this?" Colt asked, pointing to the building. It was kind of dumb question as he thought about it... there was a sign just above the door.

"Oh, that's 'Mick and Ralph's'," Veronica answered, "Ralph sells general items and Mick sells weapons and the like."

"'General items'? Like alcohol?" Colt asked.

"Well, I imagine he sells that, yeah."

"Good, I need a drink," Colt made a beeline for the door.

"What about the whiskey in your bag?" Boone asked, referring to the three bottles of liquor Colt purchased at the 188 Trading Post.

"I'm more of a scotch kind of guy. That whiskey was for Cass."

Colt laid his hand on the handle, opened the door to the store and walked over the threshold. A cool breeze of air greeted his face; it was a great change of pace from the extreme heat of the wasteland. The store was dark and relatively cool compared to the Mojave. In the center of the store were two rows of old floor freezers, they were probably there before the War and most of them contained weapons, ammo, and sorted apparel. Shelves, holding a mix of items ranging from sensor modules to teddy bears, dotted the walls. Two other men occupied the store, one behind a counter to Colt's immediate right and the other towards the back. They both looked up and smiled at their new customers.

Colt was soon followed by Veronica, who shortly glanced around the store and then made a beeline for a mannequin displaying a dress. He left her to looking at the dress and approached the man behind the counter. The man was wearing a dark red shirt and had well kempt hair.

"Hello," the man said as he extended a hand and introduced himself, "My name is Ralph. I deal in general goods and my partner, Mick, deals with weapons. Now, what can I do for you this fine, fine day?"

"Yeah, nice to meet you. Colt," Colt shook Ralph's hand, "Now, down to business… you got any scotch?"

"Scotch? Yeah, I got scotch," Ralph swiveled the barstool he was sitting on around to a fridge that was right behind him, "Now, personally, I prefer vodka. But, hey, a man can pick his own poison," Ralph pulled out a bottle of light brown liquid and showed it to Colt, "Will this do?"

"Yeah, that'll be fine."

"Thirty caps."

"Damn, that's steep. For a bottle of scotch?"

"A man's got to make money," Ralph said, smiling.

"Alright, just one minute," Colt turned to Veronica, "Hey, Veronica, you want anything?" Veronica was still standing in front of the mannequin with her hands clasped together, gawking at the dress being displayed. The dress was a faded pink with a dark red ribbon around the waist and a skirt that fell down to barely skim the wearer's feet. "Veronica, can you hear? Do you want anything?" Colt thought he knew the answer… and he knew it would leave a giant hole in his funds.

Veronica turned to Colt and pointed at the dress, "Can I have it?"

"You want a dress? A _pink_ dress?" Colt questioned, an eyebrow raised.

"Just because I like punching things doesn't mean I don't want to look pretty," she said, rolling her eyes, "Can you please get it for me?"

Colt looked at Veronica, who had her hands clasped together and was trying to buy him over with wide eyes. Colt smiled, "Really? You think that's going to work on me?"

'I don't know, is it working?" Veronica asked, her eyes widened even more.

"Fuck…" Colt whispered under his breath and he turned back to Ralph, "How much for the dress?" Veronica's eyes lit up and she scurried over to Colt's side, eagerly waiting for the price.

Ralph looked at Colt, Veronica, the dress, and then back at Colt. A wide smile crossed his face, and that's when Colt realized the price was about to skyrocket. "For you… two hundred caps."

"Right, just the bottle of scotch then," Colt said, digging into the pouches on his belt, looking for thirty caps.

"Oh, come on!" Veronica whined as she grabbed Colt's arm and began shaking it up and down, "I won't ask for anything else, just please get me the dress! That asshole, William, never bought me anything! Not even food! Just please buy me the dress! Pretty please?"

Colt looked at Veronica once more, her dark brown eyes were even wider than they were before, if that's even possible, and her lower lip was trembling. Colt looked down and sighed, "Go outside to Boone, dig into my bag, and bring me two of those little black bags that are at the bottom. Oh, and ask Boone if he wants anything."

"Yes!" Veronica exclaimed as she jogged out of the store to retrieve the bags of caps.

Colt turned back to Ralph, "Two hundred caps? For a dress? You're a real asshole… you know that, right?"

Ralph just smiled, "A man's got to make money."

Veronica remerged with two small black bags, which contained just about two hundred caps each, and handed them to Colt. "Boone said he would like a bottle of water and I would like a Nuka Cola."

Colt nodded as he took the bags in hand and turned back to Ralph, "Alright, the bottle of scotch, a bottle of water, a bottle of Nuka Cola, and a bag of Potato Crisps. How much is all that going to be?"

'That'll run you up to a hundred caps," Ralph answered as he set the named items on the counter, "And the dress will run you up to three hundred caps."

Colt placed the two bags on the counter, "There are two hundred caps in each bag. You can keep the change."

"I'm going to have to count them out."

Colt chuckled softly, "Be my guest." _If I have to pay two hundred Goddamn caps for a dress, your ass has to count them out_, Colt thought to himself, thinking it was equal enough punishment for Ralph's extreme prices.

Ralph sighed, untied the small individual ropes that held the bags closed and dumped out the mountains of caps. He continued to pick through them, two by two, until he counted out an entirety of four hundred caps.

"Seems to be in order," Ralph said, counting out the last two caps, "Alright, everything's all yours."

Veronica let out a high pitched squel as she rushed over to the frilly pink dress. She delicately lifted the dress off of the mannequin and neatly folded it up.

Ralph tossed a brown paper bag to her, "Wouldn't want a two hundred cap dress getting ruined, now would we?"

Veronica placed the neatly folded dress into the bag and walked to stand by Colt, who was placing the rest of the newly bought items into another bag.

"Thank you for your patronage," Ralph said, smiling as Colt and Veronica left the store.

Boone was waiting outside for the two, leaning up against the wall to the left of the door. He stood up straight when Colt and Veronica emerged. Colt dug into the brown bag and pulled out the water for Boone and tossed it to him. Then he pulled out Veronica's Nuka Cola and tried to hand it to her, but she was too busy gawking at the dress to even notice.

"What's in the bag?" Boone asked, taking a gulp of water. Veronica opened the bag and held it out for Boone to peer inside. "A dress?" He took a second glance, "A _pink_ dress?"

"Ugh," Veronica grunted, rolling her eyes again, "Just because punching things is a hobby of mine, doesn't mean I don't like to look pretty when I'm doing it," Boone just looked at her. "Forget it!" Veronica said in frustration as she closed the bag shut, snatched the Nuka Cola out of Colt's and began to down it in violent gulps.

Colt just snickered as he popped the cap to his bottle of scotch and drank some of the liquor. The hard liquor cooled his throat and intestines as it passed through his body. Colt removed the bag of potato chips and sat on the ground, leaning against the wall of Mick and Ralph's. Veronica sat on his left, still taking large sips from her Nuka Cola, and Boone joined them, sitting on Colt's right.

Colt tore open the potato chip bag, releasing the saltiness of the outdated Pre-War chips into the air. They tasted worse than they smelled. They were salty, bland, and stale, but he still ate chip after chip, trying to get some kind of sustenance in him. Instead of satisfying his appetite, the chips just spoiled it and he handed off the rest of the bag to Veronica.

"Oh, thanks, I love Potato Crisps," she said with a hint sarcasm as she grabbed the bag.

Colt stood, bottle of scotch still in hand, and began to survey the area while taking sips from his liquor. At the end of the street was a few more destroyed buildings, their roofs caved in and windows busted open from the overwhelming debris that had piled up inside the buildings. A junkies were sitting on the ground, shaking back and forth, waiting for their next fix. They would have to avoid the junkies; at least if they didn't want their pockets picked.

A few yards down, the street they were on joined together with another street to make T-intersection. Since many peopled were taking the right turned, he thought the best way to go was right. Colt polished off the last bit of scotch in the bottle and discarded it in a trash bin right next to the door of Mick and Ralph's.

Colt walked over to right side of Boone, leaned against the wall, crossed his arms and tilted his hat to shield his face from the sun. While waiting for Veronica and Boone to finish their drinks, Colt tried to think of some ways to confront this "William Hans". In the middle of his train of thought, he felt a slight tug at his revolver's holster; as if someone was trying to lift the silver weapon off his person. Looking down, he saw an old junkie trying to take the revolver out of the holster.

Colt let out a loud breath to try and scare the junkie away, but he just continued to _try_ and wiggle the revolver free.

_Its no use_, Colt thought to himself,_ He's going to keep to keep doing it until he gets the fucking gun. Well, time to make a scene. _Colt swiftly and quickly grabbed the junkie's left arm and forced him to the ground, making him eat pavement. The junkie let out a sharp yelp as Colt put pressure on his arm, making it bend at an odd angle. With the harm Colt caused the junkie, he wasn't without harm himself. His quick movements had caused his stitches to open and searing pain to spear his calf. Ignoring the pain, Colt focused on the thief.

"Stealing that revolver would've been the last thing you would've done. Understand?" Colt forced his knee more onto the man's arm. It started to bend even more underneath the weight of the full-grown man.

"Yes! I understand!" The junkie answered, trying to force himself up, but he was just forced back down.

"Next time, don't try to steal another man's family heirloom so you can get your next fix. Understand?" Colt asked once more as he forced another wave of pain into the junkie's arm.

"Okay, okay! I won't steal again! Just, please, let me go!" The junkie cried once more.

Colt, sensing the staring eyes and the crowd being drawn, released the junkie from his grip. The junkie stood himself up and stumbled forward, griping his injured arm and glaring at the man who had humiliated him.

"Now, get the fuck out of here before I kill you," Colt said coldly as he started to go for his revolver's handle. The junkie stumbled backwards at the fact the Colt was reaching for the weapon and ran away.

"What was all that?" Veronica asked as his disposed of the empty bottle of Nuka Cola and bag of Potato Crisps in the trash bin.

"Yeah, you caused a lot of commotion, Colt," Boone commented as he stood and tossed his empty bottle to the ground, "let's just hope that little 'exchange of words' doesn't rile up the Kings."

"'The Kings'?" Colt asked as he tightened his holster to his belt, making sure no one else could steal it.

Colt removed Cass' pendant from his pouch and slipped it around his neck so that he could keep it safe. As the pendant came to rest on his chest, he felt a certain twang tugging on his heartstrings and a warming sensation overtook his body.

"The Kings are Freeside's local gang. They run the show around here," Veronica answered as she bent down and took a look at Colt's calf. The blood from his now open wound started to seep through the cloth pants, "Now, we're going to have to be extra careful. Since you're a nobody around here, no offense, that junkie is probably going to get the Kings on you."

"So, what, you want us to go confront the Kings or something?"

"No, I'm just saying we have to be careful now. Wow, that wound is really gushing," Veronica said, examining the origin of the blood, "We should go have it checked out."

"How are we going to do that, exactly?" Colt asked, wincing at the stinging sensation of Veronica lifting up the calf plating.

"The Old Mormon Fort," Boone answered, walking towards Colt, "The Followers of the Apocalypse will do a hell of a better job than I did at fixing that bullet hole of yours."

"Then I guess we should get over there."


	9. Freeside Fiasco Part 2

Colt, Boone, and Veronica continued to walk down a few different streets in Freeside until they came to an old brick perimeter wall, the largest structure in this part of town. There was an old, wooden sign just a few yards from the wall in front of a wooden door. On the sign was a sheet of bronze nailed to the wood and there were some etchings in the bronze sheet; "Old Las Vegas Mormon State Historic Park" and right below it was the seal of the state of Nevada.

The entrance to the fort, a set of dark wooden doors, creaked and opened slowly. Boone, Colt, and Veronica were greeted by a small sandbag wall with two or three armed guards sitting behind it, weapons drawn. They motioned for the three to come in as they holstered their guns. Boone helped Colt hobble into the fort with Veronica following close behind.

The Follower's outpost in the Old Mormon Fort was nothing more that a half dozen tents set up around the courtyard. More armed guards, some patients, and a few doctors wandered around, going in and out of tents. One of the doctors approached the injured man and his two companions.

"Hello, I'm Julia Farkas," the woman said, greeting the travelers. This doctor was different from the others just because of the mohawk she sported. It was strange to Colt because, back in the NCR, he had never seen a doctor sporting that kind of hairdo. "Welcome to the Old Mormon Fort. Do you need any assistance?"

"Yeah, I need a doctor," Colt answered, looking down at his wound.

"My, my, my, yes you do," Julia bent down and examined the wound further, "I wish I could help you, but I need to head out and get medical supplies and, unfortunately, most of the other doctors are busy," she stood back up, "But, there is a doctor that may be able to help. He's in the last tent on the right." Julia turned and pointed to the mentioned tent.

"Thanks," Colt nodded to her and she nodded back.

Julia walked past the three and out of the fort with one of the guards. The doors closed slowly as Julia left and as Colt, with the help of Boone, hobbled to the tent Julia directed them to. Pain shot through Colt's body with every step he took. He hoped that the doctor would be able to ease the pain a little or stop it completely. It seemed like an eternity before they finally reached the tent. Veronica held the flap of the faded whit tent open as Colt and Boone entered.

On the opposite side of the tent was a table with a computer terminal. A man with bright blonde hair was sitting at the terminal, typing rapidly. Next to the table were a few filing cabinets and to the immediate left of the tent's entrance was a small operating table and a tray with medical utensils. The man turned at the three's entrance to the tent; the man was wearing sleek, black eye glasses.

"Who, might I ask, are you?" The man asked, standing up.

"Colt, Boone, and Veronica," Colt answered, "Who are you?"

"Arcade Gannon. Now, why…" Arcade Gannon trailed off as he looked at Colt's bleeding wound, "Ah, I see. Well, go ahead and have a seat on the table."

Boone helped Colt over to the table and helped him take a seat. The pain was getting worse and worse.

"Right, so tell me what happened," Arcade said as he removed the calf plating, cut a small hole in Colt's pants and the bandages around the wound and examined it further. The pain was unbearable while Arcade continued to prod Colt's sensitive bullet wound with a scalpel, moving around lose pieces of skin and flesh.

"I got shot," Colt answered bluntly through gritted teeth.

"How long have you had it?" Arcade further inquired.

"Not very long. Two days at the max."

"It'll be easy enough to fix with a Stimpak… maybe a Super Stimpak. But, here's a question," Arcade looked up at Colt, "Why didn't you use a Stimpak in the first place?"

"Because… I've seen a lot of people suffer from drugs. So, I try to stay away from them."

Colt thought back to when he was younger. A lot of junkies swung by his family's ranch when he was a kid and his family always took care of them... even though some of them would steal clothes, food, and other things. Colt's father would let the thievery slide, saying that "they need it more than we do".

Some of the junkies, due to withdrawal, were never, exactly nice. Many were violent and uncontrollable. One junkie even slapped Colt's mother for cooking his steak the wrong way. Colt's mother would always let it slide, saying "it's the drugs and other things that turned them that way".

Colt even remembered how the addict's health and physical appearance deteriorated from the constant use of drugs. They would always be coughing and wheezing, sometimes coughing up globs of blood. It always frightened Colt to see blood; he never did like it. He would also be frightened of the addict's physical appearance. Some of them had gaunt, sunken in faces with large black bags under their eyes. Their teeth would be a sickly yellow and their skin would sometimes match, either that or their skin would be a ghostly pale. The junkies would be walking skeletons, their skin tightened against their bones because of the lack or deterioration of their muscles.

"_It's not their fault, son. Addiction is a terrible trait that most seem to take. We need to help them drop this trait so that they can live their lives the way they want and not the way their drugs want,"_ Colt's father would always say that to him whenever a junkie or addict stopped by the ranch. He felt sorry for the addict and what the drugs did to them. So, to prevent that from ever happening himself, Colt swore that he'd never use the drugs.

"Well, it's not really good for you to avoid drugs completely," Arcade stuck the needle into Colt's calf, on the edge of his wound, and injected the drug into his body. Colt felt a slight pinch as the needle entered his leg and a flowing feeling as the drug entered his veins. Arcade removed the needle and threw it in a trash bin, "All done."

Colt looked down at the wound, it healed almost instantly. A new patch of white skin formed and generated over the bullet hole; it was almost indistinguishable from the rest of his skin. Colt jumped down from the table and stretched out his leg for it had become stiff and rigged.

"It's just a side effect," Arcade reassured Colt as he sat back down in the chair.

"How much?" Colt asked as he rubbed his leg, trying to soothe and loosen the muscles.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just here to help."

"No, I insist. How much?"

Arcade turned to answer, but he was interrupted by another voice saying, "That's him!" Colt, Boone, and Veronica turned to the tent's flap; the junkie, Colt had in an arm bar earlier, was standing, pointing at Colt, with five big burly men in leather jackets and stylized hair standing beind him. In fact, all the thugs looked the same, which kind of surprised Colt. They weren't Stallions gang members though… they were too well groomed and they didn't wear the rearing stallion patch.

"Are you 'Colt'?" One of the men asked, his voice sounding familiar to Colt. It sounded like a singer's voice that he heard once; The King of Rock n' Roll, Elvis Presley.

"Yes," Colt answered hesitantly. Two of the men walked into the tent and seized Colt by his arms. Another thug grabbed hold of Veronica by her arm and a third thug took Boone into custody. Colt struggled with the thugs who were holding him in place, "Hey, get your goons to back off before they get hurt."

"I don't think so," the leader of the thugs said with a grin. He had a partial impression of Elvis to go with his look.

"What's the meaning of this?" Boone asked, struggling with his captor.

"The King would like to have a word with you three," the leader pointed to Colt, "Especially you."


	10. Sit Down with the King

The three captives were forced into the small theater inside the King's School of Impersonation by their captors. Inside the theater, tables and chairs were set up in front of the stage, where a single man was practicing his Elvis impersonation. The tables and chairs were set up for people to watch the show, laughing and talking as someone performed their act, but they were all empty except for one where a man, who wore a white blazer and looked bored out of his mind, was sitting. Colt, Boone, and Veronica were walked over to the man in the white blazer. Colt was forced to sit in the chair across from him while Boone and Veronica stood beside Colt.

"Here they are, sir," the leader of the thugs, who captured the three, said proudly.

"What do you want? A cookie? Get out of here," the man in the blazer said to his five lackeys. The men just looked at each other, shrugged, and walked away; leaving the man in the blazer with the group of travelers he ordered to be captured. "I suppose you know who I am?" The man asked as he looked at the three people in front of him. The man's impersonation of Elvis was spectacular. Colt, almost, couldn't tell the difference from the impersonator and the man it was based off of.

"I'm guessing… the King, right?" Colt asked, sarcastically.

"You're absolutely right," the King confirmed with a smile.

"Oh," Colt said, clapping his hands with false delight and a sense of sarcasm, "Do I get a prize?"

The King smiled once more, "And I'm guessing, by your smart mouth, you're the leader of this expedition into my home town, right?"

"Yeah, so what? You want a cookie or something?"

The King just laughed softly, "I like you; you're funny. Maybe I should have you up on that stage instead of the jackass who's up there now." The man on the stage looked at the King, frustration on his face, and stormed off like a melodramatic prom queen. "But, seriously," the King continued, completely ignoring the frustrated man that was leaving the theater, "What are your names and I want to know why are you're here?"

"Well," Colt began, trying to sound as innocent as possible with the lie he was making up, "We're tourists. Heard Vegas was really nice this time of year, so, we decided to visit. I'm Alberto," Colt gestured to himself, "This is Frank," he gestured to Boone, "And this is Yolanda," he gestured to Veronica.

"Hard-fucking-har," the King said, sounding a bit annoyed now, "Listen, son, you're attitude is really starting to piss me off. That's not even to mention how pissed off I was when I found out your were harassing the citizens. Now, tell me who you really are and what you're really doing here or else an accident might just happen."

Colt just sighed and realized he should stop before something bad happens; his mouth always got him into trouble. He finally answered the King's question truthfully, "Our names are Colt, Boone, and Veronica and, as for why we're here, we're looking for someone that has something very valuable to me."

"Uh huh," the King grunted with doubt in his words, "And, to find this person, you had to harm that poor man?"

"Well, King, can I call you King?" Colt asked as he took out his lighter and cigarettes. The King answered his question with a small nod. "Good, okay, King, I want to ask you a question," Colt said, as he removed a cigarette from the pack and lit it in his mouth, puffing out plums of smoke, "How would you feel if you came to this wonderful city, a city you've never been to before, and someone tries to steal a precious family heirloom?"

"I guess I wouldn't take that too kindly," the King answered, scratching his chin, "Why? Is that what he was doing?"

"Yes, sir. He was trying to steal my precious revolver here."

"Alright, I understand where you're coming from," the King said, leaning back in his chair, "But, was it necessary to nearly break his arm?"

"I guess I did kind of overreact to him trying to take my revolver. It's just been a long couple of days."

"Oh, yeah? How long?"

"Well," Colt began to twirl the cigarette around in his fingers, "I was shot, a friend of mine was kidnapped, and now I'm on a wild goose chase to find the kidnappers; a gang called the 'Stallions'."

"Woah, woah," the King interrupted Colt, holding up his hand," Did you say the 'Stallions'."

"Yeah, why?" Colt placed the cigarette back in his mouth and let it hang there, lazily, inhaling tobacco and nicotine.

"Because, those sons of bitches came through here not too long ago."

"What?" Colt yelled, causing him to swallow a large amount of black smoke from the cigarette. He dropped the cigarette on the table and began to violently cough as the smoke overtook his lungs.

"Woah, are you okay? You need some water?"

"No," Colt declined as he continued to cough, "What I need is for you to repeat that."

"Repeat what?"

"What you just said," Colt said, clearing his throat, done with the coughing fit, "Did you say that they just came through here?"

"Who, the Stallions? Yeah, they came through here. They killed two locals too, beating them to death with the stocks of their rifles. They did it to get back at me for declining their leader's offer, the bastards. Would've had my boys teach 'em a lesson, but there were too many of them; ten or fifteen, if I remember correctly. After they were done beating those poor people, the Stallions up and left for the Strip."

"Did they say why or where they were going?"

"They didn't say where they were going, but Aleksander said why they were here. He talked about calling in 'outstanding debts' on some of the families around Vegas. He tried to shake me down, saying I owe him," the King scoffed, "I told him I don't owe him anything and that him and his fruit loop troop need to leave. So, they did."

"Do you know any other families he might visit?"

"Don't know, he didn't say. But he did make a beeline for the Strip, so, I would try some of the Strip Families. The Omertas, The Chairmen, The White Glove Society, they all might know something."

Colt leaned back, amazed at this influx of information. So, he decided to delve even further so that he can get to know more about the gang he was hunting, "How much do you know about the gang?"

The King, too, leaned back in his chair, "Now, that's the thing; I don't know too much about them and I haven't known them that long."

"Can you give me any information that you do know?"

The King sat, thinking for a minute, but then nodded, "Alright, I guess I can forgive you of your crimes against Freeside if you're so eager to track down these murderous bastards. I'll tell you what I know; the Stallions is run by this guy named 'Aleksander Lebedev'. Now, Aleksander, apparently, used to be the helpful sort. He and his gang used to help a lot of people out. That is, until a few years ago. Now, for some strange reason, Aleksander saw the NCR as a threat, declared them an enemy, and had his gang attack any troopers and civilians on sight. Naturally, this led to some small war between them and the result was the Stallions running in terror.

After that, he fled here, to the Mojave. Something big happened here to the Stallions; people said it was the final straw for Aleksander and he changed. Now, he only wants to hurt people and cause them pain and his targets are usually anyone who has any affiliation with the NCR. He made that clear a couple years ago when him and his gang destroyed some big ranch in the NCR," Colt's heart tugged at the mention of his ranch as, apparently, the first target on the Stallions' hit list, "He's been on a rampage ever since and he's _really_ pissed off the NCR. I guess Aleksander realized he needs help if he wants to fight the bear. It would explain why he's trying to cash in these imaginary 'outstanding debts'."

"That's all you know?"

"That's all I know and if I had to take a guess at where he went to next, it would be the Strip. He was heading that direction."

"I have one more question… did you see anyone in his gang carrying a dark burlap sack?" Colt held Cass' pendant in hand; it was warm against his touch and it helped soothe and calm him as he awaited the answer from the King.

"Come to think of it, yeah, I did see a dark sack. It was being carried by some guy with a bandage around his hand. I asked about it, they just said it was supplies or something. I got real suspicious, though; it was shaped almost like a person. But, I just shook it off."

Colt's heart was lifted as he heard that Cass with them. That means she couldn't be too far away and that he still had a chance to save her. But, then, his he was filled with anger and frustation to hear that Ivan had her. Colt cooled himself off and stood.

"You've been real helpful in helping me find these guys."

"Hey, no problem. Just as long as you weren't here to harm any Freeside locals, we'll be fine… you _aren't _here to harm the locals, are you?"

"Absolutely not, Mister King. I'm," Colt turned back to Veronica and Boone and then turned back to the King, "In mean, _we're _here to find this 'Aleksander', his gang, and someone they have with them."

"Good. Well, I hope you find the slimy bastards," the King said as he extended a hand, "It was nice meeting you."

Colt shook the King's hand, "It was nice meeting you too." Colt placed the lighter and pack of cigarettes back into the pouch, "Oh, and do you mind helping us get into the Strip? Low on funds."

"Sure, just as long as you promise me on thing," the Kings said, reaching into his blazer and pulling out three Strip passports.

Colt took the passports, "And what's that?" He asked, handing one of the passports to Boone, one to Veronica, and keeping the other for himself.

"I want you to promise me that Aleksander will suffer. He'll suffer when he gets to Hell, but I believe he should be served an appetizer before the main course. He deserves nothing less than to suffer for causing so much pain to others."

"Now that, I can promise," Colt said with a devilish grin. He motioned for Veronica and Boone to follow and they departed from the King, leaving him alone in the theater. The exited the School of Impersonation and onto the streets of Freeside where the sun was beginning to set on the crest of the horizon.

"Well, that was a delightful conversation," Veronica commented while stretching, "Where to next?"

"Next, we pay William Hans a visit and see if he knows just who goes in and out of the Strip,' Colt answered.

As they walked to the Strip, Colt couldn't help but wonder about Aleksander. He used to be helpful and now he's on a rampage after he 'changed'. If he was as good as the King said he was, what happened in the NCR and in the Mojave to change him so drastically. What could've happened to change a man like that?


	11. The Deal

**A/N: Before you start reading, please take the time to read this set of author's notes. It will untangle any knots of confusion there may be and it will also explain some of the things that are featured in this chapter. Thank you.**

**This chapter is probably everyone's favorite part of any movie, book, TV show, or fanfic… FLASHBACK! There will be a couple flashback chapters in the story and most of them will mainly involve Aleksander Lebedev, leader of the Stallions, and how he has changed over the years. Some of the chapters will also reveal and hint at parts of his past. I **_**may**_** make a chapter with Colt… not sure. I felt like Aleksander **_**really**_** deserved a flashback, though. Oh, and just for safe's sake, only you, the readers, are glimpsing into Aleksander's past. Colt will have no knowledge of this whatsoever and will only know what the King and other characters tell him about Aleksander. **

**Now, I did do a little research about the history of the NCR and President Tandi and all that good stuff. Please, if the information seems wrong to you, don't bash me about it; all information came from the Fallout wikia, so, please, take it up with those lovely folks. Anyways, if you have a small problem, and aren't going to completely destroy my morale because I have the wrong info, please let me know and I'll fix it. Oh, and Fort Freedom is a totally made up place that I pulled out of my ass... just thought I should throw that out there.**

**This flashback will also include some Russian names. The names... I'm a little "ify" on. I'm not sure if they're put together correctly and I'm sorry if they're not. Tell you the truth, I just looked up common Russian first names and last names and put them together... they came out pretty darn well, though. I do not mean to offend anyone; I needed the names to be short, sweet, and easy to remember. If you have any problems, let me know and I'll work it out some way.**

**There **_**are**_** Russian words in the story and they **_**are**_** in English and in the phonetic alphabet. I can't put them in the proper Russian scripture because, well… my keyboard has English letters… the point is, I hope they're translated right and I do not mean to offend anyone if they are wrong. Well, anyways, please, if you have any problems, just let me know and I will make changes immediately**

**As always, enjoy the chapter and, please, write a review 'cause I know this fic is not perfect and I will take any and all criticism. Thank you for reading and I hope you continue to read!**

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><p><em>Fort Freedom, a few miles south of the Boneyard, Aleksander Lebedev's Office<em>

_January 6, 2246_

Aleksander Lebedev was sitting behind an old oak desk, which was finely stained with the dark stain used by Pre-War carpenters to give the wood a nice full color, and he sat on an old black leather chair rattled with holes and tears. The old office chair, which he found in a destroyed administrative building of Fort Freedom, wasn't the most comfortable seat available, but, then again, it wasn't made for comfort. In front of Aleksander's desk were two leather recliner chairs; it's where his visitors would sit while they discussed business matters. Father back, behind the chairs, was a door with a bookshelf next to it and an old, worn out couch on the perpendicular wall. Besides the furniture, Aleksander's office was decorated with pictures of himself with acquaintances such as Alice McLafferty of the Crimson Caravan Company and whom he's made numerous business deals with, Aradesh, one the founders of the New California Republic, and, one of his most prized pictures, was of him with the famous Vault Dweller, who roamed the wastes years ago.

Along with pictures of himself with celebrities of the California Wasteland, Aleksander also had pictures of himself with his employees. He liked to be close to them, so they know that, unlike most other military leaders, he cared for them. But, through all of the star studded and employee pictures, one of his most favored photographs was sitting on his desk and he saw it every time he sat down to work. It was an old black and white photo of himself with his family before the War; him with his wife Dashia, his ten year old daughter Khristina, and his three year old son Dimitri. It broke his heart every time he saw it and it made him loathe the world for taking it all away… but, it made him work harder so that other's would not have to feel his pain.

Aleksander rubbed his hands together, the leather of his gloves squeaking and scratching together sent a chill up his spine. He was trying to soothe the painful sores on his hands, but it was no use; the sores all over his body ached all of the time. Unfortunately, the constantly aching sores was one of the many disadvantages of being, what the Americans called, a "ghoul". You're skin peeled and eroded away, leaving sores and revealing clumps of flesh. He was turned into a ghoul after the Great War. After the bombs dropped, the severe and intense radiation slowly leaked into his homemade bunker, slowly turning him into a ghoul. Three friends of his, who joined him on his journey to America, were also turned into the monsters. Fortunately, his wife and children didn't have to suffer the same horrible fate… Aleksander shook off the fearful memory of his home country, wiping away a tear, and focused on the paperwork on the desk in front of him.

The paper was a requisition form from a small caravan company wanting decent guards to protect an important medical supply shipment. It would be, approximately, a one week venture from the Boneyard to the Hub. He signed his name on the dotted line at the bottom and placed it in a manila envelope. He signed his name, his gang's name, and the caravan company's name on the front of the envelope

Aleksander was interrupted during his signing by someone opening the door. It was Nikolai Butkovsky; one of his closest friends, his second in command, and co-founder of the Stallions.

"Aleksander," Nikolai said in a cheerful tone as he entered the room. Even though Aleksander and his friends were ghouls, they didn't lose their voices or accents and have them replaced by rasping, wheezing breaths like the ghouls of the California Wasteland. Instead, they kept their thick Russian accents.

"Nikolai, my friend," Aleksander stood and shook hands with his friend, motioning for him to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk, "Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, that would be most welcoming. It's extremely hot out there today," Nikolai answered, opening up his leather jacket and stretching his shirt's collar.

All Stallions wore leather jackets. The only difference was the rank insignias on them. They found the rank insignia and medals in the fort when they arrived. Aleksander, being a former soldier, decided that they needed some type of ranking system, so, they adopted one. Aleksander, being the leader, sported four silver stars, Nikolai had three stars, Vladimir Ryndenko, another friend of Aleksander's who was third in command, had two stars, and Mikhail Voroshilov, a good friend of Nikolai's and who willingly accepted fourth command, wore one star. The rest of the gang members had their specific insignia for their specific ranks.

"It _is_ hot out there," Aleksander agreed as he dug into the fridge behind him, "We are Russian, after all. We're used to the cold of Siberia," the two laughed at the common Russian stereotype as Aleksander pulled out a bottle of vodka and showed it to Nikolai, "Vodka?"

"Da. Hey, Aleksander, why did you come to America anyway?"

"Because, Nikolai," Aleksander answered as he took down two glasses from a shelf above the fridge, uncorked the bottle of alcohol, and began to pour two shots of vodka, "After I was discharged from the military and started my own aid company, I came here frequently. America was like a second home to me. The people were friendly and were always glad to help. I loved the people, but their government… the sukas," Aleksander cursed in his native tongue. He hated the Pre-War governments; they were the ones who cause all of this pain and misery forced upon the world, "Their government was so neglecting… I felt sorry for them. Then again," Aleksander laughed a solemn laugh, "The other governments weren't any better."

"Well, that's true," Nikolai agreed, taking the shot of vodka offered to him by Aleksander, "Lying, thieving, mudaks… all of them. But, we must forget and move on. They're gone and we're still here. That's all that matters."

"Net, Nikolai, they will never be gone. You can not erase thousands of years of humanity. They will eventually come back, rebuild their torn world, and continue with the same shit they were doing before the War. Then, history will repeat itself, and they will destroy this world once more."

"Well, until then, to life," Nikolai said, raising his glass to toast.

"To life," Aleksander agreed, clinking his glass against Nikolai's.

With the toast and the clinking of glasses, the two downed their shots of vodka. Aleksander shuddered as the liquor poured down his throat. Vodka always did that to him.

Nikolai laughed at his companion's reaction to the drink, "Chto ne tak? What's wrong, Aleksander? Are you becoming weak sitting behind that desk?"

"Ha, you're funny, Nikolai," Aleksander scoffed as he set his glass down, "Enough about politics and alcohol. What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?"

Nikolai set his glass down and leaned forward, his friendly expression gone and replaced with a serious look, "A runner arrived just a few minutes ago. He says he has an important offer for you from an important client that would like to open up a deal that would be, as he put it, 'beneficial to both parties'."

"Really?" Aleksander asked, leaning back in his chair and overlapping his hands on his stomach, "And where did this runner come from and who is this 'important client'."

"That's just it; the runner wouldn't tell us where he came from or who wanted to make this deal. He just said he was ordered to speak to you only."

Aleksander became more serious at the information, "Really?"

"Da."

Aleksander nodded, "Well, please, send this runner in so I can speak to him."

Nikolai replied with a nod as he stood and left the office. After a few minutes alone, Aleksander was soon joined by a man dressed in a khaki tunic with bellowed hip pockets, khaki breeches, hardened leather pauldrons, black leather fingerless gloves, arm wraps, brown boots and khaki puttees. It was obviously made with the desert environment in mind and it was obviously the armor of an NCR trooper. Aleksander has seen them before; one or two patrols would walk past his gang's fort, but they would never approach them.

The soldier walked to the front of the desk and saluted Aleksander, "Sir!"

Aleksander, although flattered by it, waved off the salute and gestured for the soldier to sit down. Aleksander himself was no longer a soldier; he didn't accept salutes from his fellow gang members. Although, the salute brought back great memories from his past when he served in the Russian military as a Spetsnaz operator and helped people whose governments didn't want to help them. Yes, his own government condemned his actions, but he continued to do so regardless of what his tyrannical government said and, when he was discharged for insubordination, he still continued to help many people across the world… at least, until the Great War… The NCR trooper took the wave off of his salute with shock and sat in one of the chairs.

The two sat there for a minute, examining each other. Finally, Aleksander addressed the man, "Would you like a drink, mister…?"

The soldier broke his gaze and answered, "Uh, Reynolds. Private Gregory Reynolds, sir, and, yes, I would like a drink, sir."

"Please, none of that 'sir' stuff. Just call me 'Aleksander'," Aleksander said as he dug into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of purified water. He handed the water to the soldier, who took it with pleasure and began gulping it down.

"Thank you," Reynolds gasped in between gulps.

"No problem. Now, can you tell me about this 'deal' you have to offer?"

The runner took the bottle away from his lips for the first time in a couple minutes, "Oh, um, I can't offer you the deal."

Aleksander laughed a hearty laugh, "Well, my boy, if you aren't going to offer me this deal, then who is?"

The soldier looked at Aleksander, "President Tandi of the New California Republic."

* * *

><p><em>Fort Freedom, a few miles south of the Boneyard, Aleksander Lebedev's Office<em>

_June 18, 2247_

Aleksander sat back in his chair, puffing on a cigar and examining yet another requisition form from a caravanning company requesting guards for an especially large shipment. A lot of caravanning companies were asking for a lot of firepower lately. Aleksander thought that it must have something to do with the Vipers and Jackals the NCR was pushing back and eliminating. He wouldn't know; other gangs would avoid the Stallions as much as they could.

"Let's see what have here," Aleksander said to himself as he examined the form, "Four crates of standard Service Rifles with ten rifles a piece. Five crates of 5.56 Amor Piercing ammunition, totaling to ten thousand rounds in each crate. Two crates of Mark Two hand grenades, totaling to one hundred grenades. Wow, this is a lot of firepower," Aleksander laughed, looking down the list as it named more and more weapons, "How the fuck are they going to transport all of this?" He looked further down and found the _Mode of Transportation_ field; there was a stamp over the field that read _Classified_. Aleksander scoffed, "This most be a shipment from the NCR if they don't want me to know how they're going to transport all of this equipment."

The New California Republic had become a major powerhouse in the Wasteland a few short years after its creation. It was dedicated to Old World values that many Pre-War countries supposedly held. Values specifically stated in their former country's, the United States of America, constitution; values such as democracy, justice, and the rule of law. So far, they were doing a better job at holding these values than their Pre-War counter part who completely abandoned their values for resources.

Aleksander's train of thought was interrupted by a grunt who burst through his office door. The grunt, out of breath and gasping, addressed his commander, "Mister Lebedev, three Vertibirds just landed a few meters away from the fort and a few soldiers are at our gates."

"Vertibirds?" Aleksander asked curiously. The only people who had access to that type of transportation was the Enclave and the Brotherhood of Steel. But, what would they want with the Stallions? "Do you know who they are?"

"Judging from their armor… I would say NCR, sir."

"NCR?" Aleksander asked, surprised. How could the NCR get a hold of Veritbirds?

"Yes. They say they would like to speak with you."

Aleksander leaned back and scratched his chin. Maybe that "deal" Aleksander was told about almost a year ago was going to finally be discussed.

"Let them in and tell Nikolai to some see me at once."

"Yes, sir," the gang member left the room.

Aleksander laid the requisition form on his desk and stood from his chair, smothering his cigar in an ash tray. He removed three glasses from the shelf and set them on the table. Then, he dug into his refrigerator and removed the bottle of vodka. Uncorking the bottle, he poured three shots; one for himself, one for Nikolai, and the other for their guest. As Aleksander finished pouring the last shot, Nikolai walked into the room.

"What is it, Aleksander?" Nikolai asked, walking towards the desk.

"Remember that NCR runner from a year ago?" Aleksander asked, returning his friend's question with another question. He then sat down and waited for an answer.

"How could I forget?" Nikolai sat in one of the chairs in front of Aleksander.

"Well, it turns out that President Tandi of the NCR wanted to make deal with us and, now, I believe she's finally here to do so. Since you're my second in command, I wanted you here to hear out the deal."

"I would be honored."

At that moment, the door to the office opened once more and in stepped a woman. She was dressed in an old black suit with a skirt that was knee's length. Her hair was a faded gray and her face was wrinkled, all were the effects of old age. But, her age did not slow her actions or mind. Aleksander heard about President Tandi; one of the greatest leaders across the Wasteland. She was responsible for the NCR's greatness that it now basked in. The president walked over to the ghouls, looking rather surprised at the two, and extended a hand.

"President Tandi of the new California Republic," she said with a small smile, "And you must be-"

"Aleksander Lebedev," Aleksander said, introducing himself and shaking the president's hand. He then turned and introduced his friend, "And this is my second in command, Nikolai Betkovsky."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Tandi said, extending another hand to Nikolai."

"Yes, it is a pleasure," Nikolai agreed, standing, smiling, and shaking Tandi's hand.

"Please, have a seat," Aleksander gestured to the open seat.

President Tandi nodded and gladly took it. They all sat down in their chairs, ready for the meeting.

"President Tandi," Aleksander picked up one of the shots and gestured it to her, "Would like a drink?"

President Tandi nodded and silently said, "Thank you," as she took the glass handed to her by Aleksander.

Aleksander handed Nikolai his glass and took up his own. They all downed their shots; Nikolai and Aleksander took their shots with gusto while Tandi winced as the hard liquor trickled down her throat.

Aleksander laughed, "The vodka, it kicks everyone's ass, da?"

Tandi nodded as she sat the glass down and moved on with the meeting, "Now, Mister Lebedev, Mister Butkovsky, I am here on official business for the NCR," she said with seriousness in her voice.

"And what exactly is this business?" Aleksander asked, leaning on his desk, "You've kept us in suspense for a year, President Tandi. We received word about this deal and meeting a year ago and, when you didn't show up, I was beginning to think you had forgotten and wasn't coming."

She nodded understandingly, "Sorry for the delay, Mister Lebedev. I've been preoccupied with some… other… important business."

Aleksander remembered the form on his desk and tapped his finger on it, "Would it perhaps, have something to do with this?"

President Tandi looked at the form and picked it up, examining it. After a few minutes, she addressed Aleksander again, "Yes, it does," she set the form aside. "The NCR is, currently, in a conflict with a very powerful and malicious enemy who threatens the security of the Wasteland.

"And who is this enemy?"

"The Enclave."

_The Enclave, _Aleksander thought to himself, _The government of one of the bastard countries that caused the destruction of the world_.

"What do you wish us to do against the Enclave?" Nikolai asked, bewildered at how the Stallions could help in such a conflict, "We surely don't have the firepower or manpower to fight them. We're only caravan guards and the like. If we fight the Enclave head on, they will destroy us, our men, and our base.

"I know you're not as well equipped to fight the Enclave and I'm not asking you to fight for us. We can fight the Enclave with the bulk of our soldiers, but that will leave our towns and trade routes heavily unprotected. That's where you and your gang come in."

"I don't think this is a good idea," Nikolai commented, disagreeing with the entire thing. He was about to make another statement before Aleksander interrupted him.

"No," Aleksander said, raising his hand to silence Nikolai, "This is a great idea, President Tandi."

"But, Aleksander-" the leader raised his hand again, silencing Nikolai once more.

"Enough, Nikolai. It is a wonderful idea and, hopefully, with our help, the Wasteland will be rid of one more tyrannical faction. We will assist you, president Tandi. I will dispatch units to NCR settlements and station them along key trade routes; you will have our full support."

President Tandi smiled, "That's wonderful news, Mister Lebedev. How soon can we expect your men to arrive?"

"Within the next few days. Now, I don't expect any money or any other type of payment for this," Aleksander leaned in, looked President Tandi in the eyes, and said, "But, I want you to promise me two things; one: you destroy the tyrannical Enclave and make sure none of them threaten the freedom of the Wastes anymore."

"That can be done. What's the other promise?"

"The other promise is that you do not let the nation you've created become like the Pre-War countries. Uphold your values and beliefs at all costs and do not drop them for meaningless resources. Can you promise me that?" Aleksander asked, a tear in the corner of his eye, "I've gone through that pain once; the pain of countries leaving everything behind; their values, their beliefs... their citizens… They left it all behind for land, oil, coal, uranium; things that would only last a few hundred years. Your citizens and your values will carry on for a lot longer, but the countries of old seemed to have forgotten that. Please, don't _you _forget it too.

It was a horrible pain to feel, President Tandi, when your country leaves you and your family for dead; all for material resources and more land. I do not want to suffer through it again and I do not want anyone else to have to suffer through the pain I've been living with for hundreds of years. Just promise me that your country will never forget what makes it great; its citizens and values."

President Tandi nodded, "I promise."

Aleksander smiled softly and wiped away the tear that was on the corner of his eye, "Great. Thank you, President Tandi, and I hope your war with the Enclave goes well." The two stood from their seats and exchanged hand shakes once more.

"No, thank you, Mister Lebedev. I'm sure your assistance will greatly help our chances and no one will ever know that you're doing this; for security reasons, of course," Tandi said as she nodded once to Nikolai and headed for the door.

"Da, I understand, President Tandi. Have a wonderful flight back to Shady Sands."

Tandi left the room, leaving Nikolai and Aleksander alone. Nikolai turned to his leader, shocked and in disbelief, "Aleksander, you surely don't think we can take on the Enclave?"

"That's exactly what I think, Nikolai, and if we can't do it, then we must at least try."

"But, Aleksander, they have superior weaponry and training. We would be torn apart."

Aleksander raised his hand and calmly said, "Enough, Nikolai. I will hear no more doubt from you. If you have lack in faith, please, keep it to yourself so as not to decrease our men's morale."

"But, what reason is there to attack such a powerful enemy?"

"Nikolai," Aleksander leaned forward and began to examine the requisition form again, "The Enclave is a tyrannical faction that only cares for the preservation of their government; not the people. It would be foolish to stand aside and watch them torment citizens of their own country for resources. Net, they can not be allowed to do it again. Something needs to be done and I'm glad the NCR and President Tandi see it that way too. Now, enough of your doubts. Go about your duties; we have to organize defensive positions for the NCR settlements and trade routes."

Nikolai stood there for a moment, nodded, and, reluctantly, left Aleksander in his office with only his thoughts.

The Enclave… they were the Post-War version of the American government. They were dedicated to preserving America and they did a damn good job at it; attacking anyone that sees things different from them and grab up any and all resources for themselves. Aleksander was sick of them… he hated them for what they were doing. Agendas, such as the Enclave's, were the whole reason the world is like it is now. Aleksander hated them for it…


	12. Welcome to the Vegas Strip

**A/N: Yeah, for safety's sake, this is not a flashback and we are continuing Colt's quest or mission or whatever you would call it.**

* * *

><p>Thankfully, the Vegas passports, given to them by the King, actually worked and guaranteed safe passage into the Strip for Colt, Boone, and Veronica. The bright lights of the city shined fiercely in the mid-afternoon sun. It was like nothing Colt had ever seen; the spectacular lights, full of color, danced in the sky and on the ground. The air was full of delightful talk from the patrons of the famed town and upbeat big band music resonated from the intercoms on every corner. Even though the light and cheery atmosphere put Colt in a good mood, he was here for a more serious reason and followed Boone and Veronica up the large steps to the Lucky 38.<p>

Fortunately, the Securitron guarding the door recognized Veronica as being a friend of William's and it allowed the three companions inside. Compared to the rest of the Strip, the Lucky 38 was extremely dark and ominous. The only lights on in the Lucky 38's casino were the two in between the front door and elevator. The darkness gave the room a certain foreboding feeling; as if they shouldn't be here.

"Wow," Colt said, trying to look through the darkness. His voice echoed back and called out from the darkness, "It's dark in here."

"Be extremely careful," Veronica warned in a low voice.

"Why?"

"Because… we might run into House's ghost."

"Alright, enough fooling around," Boone's voice called out over the two's laughter, "Veronica, lead us to William."

"Fine, follow me," Veronica stepped into the dim light and walked towards a pair of large steel doors bearing the Lucky 38 seal.

Colt and Boone followed her, walking down a small set of steps and into the middle of the pool of light. Just as they stepped into the light, an electronic voice from the darkness addressed them, "Welcome to the Lucky 38. Trespassers will be shot."

"What the fuck?" Colt yelled, jumping at the voice

A Secruritron rolled out of the darkness, a police officer's face on its central screen, just as the other Securitrons, and greeted Colt once more, "Welcome to the Lucky 38."

"A little jumpy, Colt?" Veronica laughed.

"Yeah, it's _real_ funny… just take us to William," Colt said bluntly, his cheeks turning red from embarrassment.

"Alright, come on."

The three walked up to the elevator's steel doors. Veronica, already knowing what to do, pressed the "up" button on the side panel next to the elevator. It took a few minutes, but, finally, a "ding" echoed out, signaling the arrival of the elevator. The steel doors slowly opened, revealing a small compartment brightly lit and covered in bright red carpeting.

Veronica stepped into the elevator and motioned for the others to enter too; Boone stepped into the elevator on Veronica's right and Colt, hesitantly, stepped into place on her left. With everyone piled into the small box, Veronica pressed another button on a panel to the door's left. The button lit up and two letters, "P" and "S", were visible. They spent the next few minutes in the cramped elevator, listening to horribly dull elevator music as the box slowly crawled up the Lucy 38 tower.

The elevator music finally got to Colt, "Fuck," he said, cupping his hands over his ears, trying to block the asinine music that played over and over again, "I don't get it; if casinos want their customers to come back, then why the hell do they play the most annoying music in their elevators?"

"That's a good question," Veronica agreed, nodding and placing her finger on her chin.

The elevator dinged once more, letting the occupants and those waiting in the suite know that the elevator has arrived at its destination. The steel doors slid open again and the three riders stepped out onto the floor owned by the Presidential Suite. The entrance hall was bare of any kind of décor or furniture and it was covered in the same red carpeting as the elevator. All there were was five other doors, not including the elevator; two on the elevator's flanks, a door directly in front of the elevator and two other doors flanking that one.

Veronica pointed to the door across from the elevator, "That's his room. He'll be in there," she said, leaving Colt and Boone and walking to the door on the left. They didn't even get to ask what she was doing before she opened the door and vanished in the room.

Boone just let out a heavy sigh and approached the door, "Let's get this over with." Boone knocked heavily upon the oak door as Colt joined him, leaning against the door's frame.

There was a groan and a ruffle of, what sounded like, sheet covers. Other than that, nothing. Boone knocked on the door, this time louder and harder.

"William!" Boone yelled, "Get your lazy ass up! You have visitors!"

Another loud groan came from the room and than a man with a heavy German accent called out and answered Boone, "Nobody's home! Please, leave a message after the beep…"

"William! I'm not here to play your stupid games! Now, open the door or_ I'm_ going to open it!"

There was another silence before William retorted, "Fuck… you!"

"Alright, we'll do this your way," Boone said, taking a step back, "You have three seconds before the door comes down! One… two…"

"Wait!" There was a thud and a silent word whispered in a foreign language. Soft footstep started towards the door and they became louder as they approached. Finally, the door opened and a young man stepped into the door way. His dirty blonde hair was disheveled, looking worse than the random tumbleweeds encountered out in the Wastes, and there were dark bags underneath his hazel eyes. He was wearing a dirty, stained white tank top and faded blue shorts that were torn on one of the legs.

"God, you look like shit," Colt said, taking in William's appearance with disgust.

"Well, guten tag to you too," William retorted with an arrogant tone. Then he noticed Boone and his eyes widened and filled with fury. He reared back his arm and landed a blow square to Boone's jaw; rocking the hardened soldier. Boone staggered backwards, holding his jaw while cursing the man that had just got in a cheap shot.

William just shook his fist, which was hurt from hitting Boone in his strong jaw, "You _hurensohn_! You think you can punch me and get away with it? _Nein_! No one does that to me!"

Boone looked back at William with equal, if not greater, hatred and he rushed to William, intending to cause him harm. Luckily, Colt caught Boone, stopping him from beating the sense out of their only source of information for finding Cass and the Stallions.

"Boone, stop!" Colt yelled, holding back the furious man, "We need him!"

William just laughed at the struggling Boone as he was being held back by Colt, "What's wrong, Boone? You want to fight me? _Nein_, you wouldn't stand a chance. You're lucky your boyfriend is in the way or I would kick your ass."

"You're mistaken;_ I'm_ going to kick your sausage eating ass!" Boone yelled, retaliating to William's comment.

"Oh, ho, ho, ho," William laughed sarcastically, "How very stereotypical of you. All Germans eat sausage, ja? The only one here that eats sausage is you, American _schwein_."

"Bratwurst bastard!"

"Enough of the stereotypical insults! Calm down, both of you!" Colt yelled over the two, trying to defuse the situation before it could explode.

Right in the middle of the confrontation, at one of _the_ most outrageous times, Veronica leaped put of the room she took refuge in, arms spread like an eagle, and yelled "Ta-da!" at the top of her lungs.

The three men stopped what they were doing and took notice of her, for she interrupted their conversation; Veronica was wearing the pink dress Colt had bought for her back in Mick and Ralph's. Her hair was tied up in to a thick bun; it was the first time Colt had actually seen her without the green scraggy hood. Veronica, after basking in the silence for a little while, put her arms down, finally seeing the scene going on in the rest of the suite.

"Oh dear God," she said in an irritated tone, putting her face in her hand, "I can't leave you guys alone for five minutes."

William leaned out of the room and noticed Veronica, a wide smile plastered across his face. He stepped out of the room and leaned against the wall, trying to act as smooth and cool as possible.

"Well," William said, trying to be seductive and examining Veronica from head to toe, "Guten tag, fräulein. How would like to sample a full fledge German bratwurst?"

Veronica rolled her eyes and walked back into the room. She muttered "pig" under her breath as she disappeared.

William just shrugged, "What's her problem?"

"You!" Boone yelled as he stopped struggling with Colt and backed off.

"Me? What did I do?"

"You're a sexist, arrogant prick, Hans. That's what you are and that's what you always do," Boone answered bluntly.

"Sexist? Arrogant? I have no clue what you're talking about, Boone."

"You know damn well what I'm talking about. You try pick up every woman that gets near you and then you use them and demean them. To top it all off, you believe you're the smartest person in the world and you believe you're God's gift to the fucking world. Well, guess what, you're not."

"Oh, I get it," William said, chuckling softly, as if he figured it out, "This is about what I said about your wife, isn't it, Boone? You're just upset that I'm right; she probably is the camp slut by now-" William was cut short by a blow from Boone that landed right upon his cheek, rocking the victim of the punch. William fell to the ground, holding his jaw as blood seeped out of his mouth.

"Damn it, Boone! We need him!" Colt yelled, frustrated with his friend's short temper, as he bent down and examined the injury. His bottom jaw bone was at an odd angle, possibly dislocated. William placed his hands on either side of his jaw and fixed it with a loud crack. He then spit out a glob of blood mixed with saliva and a tooth as he slightly lifted himself up.

"Well, whatever you need from me," William laughed, blood trickling out of his mouth, "You can forget it."

"Come on, we need your help finding someone. Please, help us," Colt pleaded, trying to persuade the man.

William looked up at Colt, a small stream of blood cascading out of his mouth, and coldly said, "Fuck… you."

"You owe me, William," Veronica was leaning against the wall on her shoulder, back in her old green robes and looking down at the bleeding man, "And I say; you help us."

"How do I owe you anything, fräulein?" William laughed softly, looking up at the woman standing before him, "I don't owe you anything."

"Now, Hans, you remember that little job with the NCR when you had to investigate the Brotherhood of Steel? Do you remember who got you on good terms with the Brotherhood in the first place?"

William sat there, starring for a minute and then sighed, "Ja, I remember."

"You owe me, Hans. I pegged you to be a man of your word… are you?"

"Ja, I am a man of my word… but, I'm not going to help Boone or anyone he's associated with."

"He's not associated with me, he's associated with Colt. So, you won't be helping either of them because you'll be helping me and me only. Get it?"

William laughed once more as he, with the help of Colt, stood himself up on wobbly legs, "You were always a bright person, Veronica. Ja, I will help _you_," William looked lividly towards Boone.

"Fine.'

William motioned for them to follow, "Come, let's talk in the recreation room."

"No thanks, I'm staying out here," Boone said, leaning up against the wall, "I don't want to be anywhere near that pathetic bastard." Colt and Veronica nodded, acknowledging Boone's decision, and followed William into the recreation area on the right of the master bedroom.

The room was under lit and humid, just like the casino downstairs. In the middle of the room was an old billiards table with a full set of billiard balls on top. Back behind the billiards table was a corner occupied by two faded white couches and an end table in between them. Another two couches were in the corner to the door's right. William walked Colt and Veronica to a table a few feet away from the door, its surface covered with torn apart weapons and a radio, and motioned for them to sit.

"Please, have a seat while I go clean up," William said as he made sure his guests took their seats and left the room. He exchanged a few insults with Boone as he walked back to the master bedroom.

Colt cleared off room on the table; setting aside hulls to pistols and stocks to rifles. The table was old, but sturdy and it barely buckled under the weight of Colt as he leaned on it, waiting for William to return.

"Did you like my dress?" Veronica asked, trying to make small talk.

Colt turned from the door to her and smiled, "You looked very beautiful in it," Veronica cracked a smile as she blushed, "But," Colt continued, "Why do you always have to cover your hair with that hood?"

She smiled even wider and answered his question with another question, "Why do _you _cover _your_ hair with that hat?"

Colt nodded, thinking about it for a minute, "Touché."

The door opened as William entered the room again, the blood cleaned from around his mouth and the bleeding, coming from the broken tooth inside, stopped. His hair was neatly cleaned and styled back with hair gel into a sort of "blasted back" hairdo. The old white tank top and blue shorts was replaced with a pressed black and white checkered suit. Around his right forearm was a brass Pip Boy 3000 that the Courier was trademarked with having. Williams, in his new tacky outfit, sat in the seat in between Colt and Veronica.

'So," he began, getting comfortable in the seat, "What is it that you need, fräulein?"

"I want you to help me find someone, or rather a group of people, Hans," Veronica answered, looking very serious, "I think you might know because your Securitrons are always watching the Strip and so are the hundreds of cameras around the Strip."

William smiled, "You are right; they watch everyone and everything that go in and out. So, tell me, who are you looking for? Someone who loves walks in the Wasteland or candle lit machine shops? They are interests of yours, ja?"

"We're looking for a gang and someone they kidnapped," Colt answered for Veronica as he pulled Cass' pendant from underneath his shirt and held it in his enclosed fist.

"That's very serious," William turned to Colt, "Who did they kidnap?"

Colt stayed quiet for a minute, forcing himself to hold back a tsunami of tears that was trying to build up in the corners of his eyes. After a few minutes of sitting in silence, he finally spoke up, "Rose of Sharon Cassidy."

William's eyes widened and he began to rub his jaw, "Cass? They kidnapped Cass?" he asked, sounding shocked and surprised, "Who did it and, better yet, how did they do it? I know Cass wouldn't let herself be kidnapped easily."

"The gang's name is the Stallions. They knocked her out with a drug and shot me. That's how they kidnapped her. Now, are you going to help?"

William sat back for a minute in, what looked like, a train of thought. Finally, he answered, "Well, Veronica is cashing in the debt I owe her and, I'm guessing, she would've asked me to help find this gang and Cass, so… ja, I will help you. So, with that, let's take a look at the Strip security footage and see if we can find any clues."

William looked down and pressed one of the many buttons on the Pip Boy. Within a few minutes, a Securitron rolled into the room and addressed his master, "Lucky 38 Securitron Guard 3 reporting, sir. Orders?"

William turned back to the two, "When do you think they got to Vegas?"

Colt shrugged, "I think, maybe, one or two days ahead of us."

"Securitron Guard 3," William turned to the robot in front of him, "Play security footage of Camera 20 from two days ago."

"Yes, sir," the Securitron said, confirming his orders.

The central screen on the Securitron faded and went into a white noise and static phase. Then the screen cut back on into focus, showing a black and white over watch view of the Strip gate Colt, Veronica, and Boone came in through. Almost as soon as the screen turned on, the gates opened and in stepped fourteen men being led by two ghouls. Two of the humans were each carrying a dark burlap sacks; one of them had to be Cass.

"That's them," Colt said almost immediately.

"Are you sure?" William asked, sounding a bit surprised at how fast they had found the gang.

"I'm positive," Colt answered, tightening his fist around the pendant.

The gang disappeared from view as they walked down the street and in front of the Lucky 38.

"Switch to camera feed 21, same day and time," William commanded.

The view of the screen switched, almost instantly, from the view of the gate to the front of the Lucky 38 and partial view of the Gomorrah. The feed hovered there long enough to catch the group of men travel through the open gates and into the middle section of the Vegas Strip.

"Switch the feed to Camera 36, same time and day."

The view, once again, changed. This time, they were looking out at the middle section of the Strip and towards the front of the Tops. The gang walked through the middle gates and the ghouls, who seemed to be the leaders, made a beeline for the door of the Tops, their companions following close behind.

"The Tops?" Veronica questioned as the last gang members filed in.

"I'm guessing Aleksander tried to shake the Chairmen down. That's our next stop," Colt said as he continued to watch the screen.

"Woah, what was that?" William asked, pointing to the corner of the screen. Colt examined it further; ten or twenty minutes after the Stallions entered, another group of men, distinguished by their khaki and sand armor, ran into the Tops, weapons at the ready."

"Looks like the NCR hasn't forgotten about the Stallions," Colt commented, watching the screen closely,

Soon, the gang members fled the Tops, occasionally turning back and shooting at the open doors. Their numbers dwindled to around thirteen… one of the men carrying a burlap sack was missing and so was the sack. Colt's heart beat quickened, for fear that something had happened to Cass. After the troopers chased the gang off the Strip, they didn't see anything else that was useful and the feed shut off.

"Well," William said, taken aback at what he had just seen, "That… that was something else. I'm guessing the NCR wants them too?"

"Yeah, they do… but I don't care what the NCR wants," Colt remarked, his voice cold and emotionless, "I've gone through Hell trying to track them down and I'll be damned if they kill that gang before me."

"You want them that badly?"

"They murdered my family and kidnapped Cass."

"I see," William turned to Colt, "Well, then your next, best option at finding them would be the Tops. Go talk to Swank and if he's not willing to cooperate, tell him I sent you. He'll tell you about their visit."

"Thanks, Hans. You've been real helpful," Veronica said as she stood and patted him on the back.

"What, all I get is a 'thank you' and a punch to the face? Shouldn't I get a little… reward, fräulein? William asked, raising an eyebrow and cracking a smile.

"William," Colt stood, "Thanks for your help and might I give you some advice? Keep it in your pants and you'll live longer."

"Ha, ha, ha, ha," William laughed sarcastically, "A fucking comedian."

"I try," Colt said, shrugging and leaving the room.

"That's all anyone can do," William turned and watched the two leave, "Farewell, Colt and good luck with the search. May our paths cross again in the future."

With that, Colt and Veronica left the room and, with Boone following, left the Lucky 38. They walked out of the muggy, old, closed down casino and into the cold of the Mojave night. The bright lights of the casinos lit up the streets and the faces of the night life that had come out of their holes. They wandered the streets, some with their pockets full caps who were ready to lighten the load and others with no caps who had just spent their life savings and were looking for some place to go.

They walked the streets of the city, a city devoted to gambling, gluttony, and satisfying one's sexual desires. A city devoted entirely to sin. Even though he was completely surrounded by it, Colt was not here to divulge in any of these sins… he was not here for piles of money, the prestigious food, or the fine women… he was here to help satisfy his thirst for revenge.

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><p><strong><span>AN: There were stereotypes in this chapter and they are not stereotypes I believe in. They are stereotypes that I believe anyone would throw around if they were in a fight. They are common and not really too insulting. If you are insulted, please let me know and changes will be made. Thank you for reading and I hope you conintue to read!**


	13. The Next Stop

A brush of cold air flushed Colt's face as he entered the Tops hotel and casino. It was the first breeze of cold air from an ndustrial air conditioner to hit his face since a few days ago at the Mojave Outpost where he met Cass. Cass… he was still looking for her, coming to the Tops to speak with Swank on information regarding the whereabouts of the Stallions. But, Colt couldn't help but take in the interior of the casino. It was well lit and exceptionally cooler compared to the Lucky 38. Unfortunately, Colt couldn't see much of the casino from where he was standing because of a large potted plant that was behind a semi-circular desk in front of him. The plant was as long as a car and had a neon light of musical notes protruding from the leaves; it completely blocked his view of the rest of the casino.

But, even though he couldn't see anything, he could hear everything; the sound of slot machines pinging as their reels stopped, the sound of dice being thrown, the sound of cards being dealt, the sound of chips being wagered and pushed around, the sound of losers as they lost all of their money and the sound of winners as they gained a few hundred bucks… this was a casino alright.

Veronica and Boone stepped in next to him, taking in the sights and sounds of the casino just as Colt was doing. At least, they were until a man in a business suit approached the newcomers.

"Welcome to the Tops. Sorry to say, but all weapons are to be relinquished to me," the man in the suit informed them, "Only Chairmen are allowed to carry weapons."

The three complied with the Chairman and gave up their weapons; Veronica gave up her pneumatic gauntlet, Boone handed the man his .308 sniper rifle, and Colt surrendered his M16 assault rifle and, reluctantly, gave the man Cass' shotgun.

"I'm going to need the revolver too," the Chairmen said, pointing to the weapon on Colt's hip.

"The revolver stays with me," Colt retorted, placing his hand over the gun, trying to shield it from unwanted viewers, "Its valuable and I don't really trust anyone with it."

"Sorry, baby, but it's gotta come with me," the Chairmen said, reaching for the weapon.

Colt took a step back, "Sorry, baby, but if you touch the revolver, I'm gonna break my foot off in your ass."

"Woah, you're one hostile cat," another voice piped up. Another man approached from Colt's left. He was wearing the same suit as the other Chairmen, but his hair was what set him out; it was trimmed uptight and was clean cut. "What's going on here?"

"Swank, this cat won't give up his revolver. He says its 'valuable'."

"Listen," the man named 'Swank' addressed Colt, "The weapons have to be turned out and given up, ya dig? Safety regulations and all. Don't want anyone getting shot over a hand of poker, now do we?"

"Look, this revolver is extremely valuable and I don't trust casino vaults and the like."

"Oh, it's valuable? Just how valuable?" Swank asked, obviously not buying Colt's story.

"Its pure silver."

"Pure silver, you say?" Swank rubbed his chin, "Prove it."

"Alright," Colt said as he removed the revolver and tilted it in such a way that it shined a ray of light in Swank's eyes.

"Damn," Swank exclaimed, trying to shield his eyes from the bright light, "You can keep the gun, just stop that and keep it holstered." Colt complied with Swank and stopped the shine from the revolver and holstered the weapon.

"But, Swank, how's that proof that thing is silver?" The Chairmen, who tried to take Colt's revolver, protested.

"That thing is silver alright. It shines like the motherfucking sun; that's proof enough. Now, go put those weapons in the vault," Swank waved off the Chairman. The Chairman, murmuring under his breath, left with the weapons. "Sorry for that," Swank said apologetically to Colt, "Now, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Yeah, what was your name again?" Colt asked, wanting to make sure he had the right guy.

"The name's 'Swank'. I run the Tops now… well, since Benny the two-face got what was coming to him, ya dig?"

"Uh, huh," Colt said, not caring who this "Benny" was, "It's actually a stroke of good luck I've met you, Swank."

"Yeah, and how's that?"

"I need to talk to you about what happened a couple days ago."

"What about a couple days ago?"

"Did a gang, by the name of the Stallions, come in here?"

Swank's eyes widened at the mention of the gang's name and he quickly reacted, "How do you know about them?"

"You can say we're… old friends. I need some information on them and I was directed here."

"Well, it depends on how you're going to use the information…"

Colt knew what Swank meant. If he told Swank that he was going to kill the entire gang, then there's the possibility he won't give Colt the information… but, that's only if he was helping the gang. From what Colt could piece together, no one liked the Stallions and no one was willing to help them. He hoped that Swank felt the same way…

"I'm going to kill them. All of them."

Swank just stood there, looking at Colt. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, Swank nodded and said, "Thank God. Someone needs to teach those assholes a lesson, ya dig? Sure, I'll help you take them down. Come on; let's talk in the Ace's Theater where it's dark and quiet."

Colt nodded and, with Veronica and Boone behind him, he followed Swank around the reception desk and into the main part of the casino. They bypassed the main floor of the casino that was to the right of the entrance. A long line of slot machines stretched down the northern wall, capped off with small potted plants on each end and placed in between the machines every so often. Roulette, blackjack, and poker tables dominated the area, along with area underneath a set of stairs that lead to the Cashier's Exchange and the Ace's Theater.

Colt, Veronica, and Boone followed these set of stairs and Swank up to a second floor platform. Right in front of them was a set of double doors with a colorful neon sign that read "Ace's Theater". To the left of the theater was the Cashier's Exchange, where Colt stopped Boone and Veronica.

"Look," Colt said as turned to them, "I want to talk to this guy alone. Take some of my NCR bills," he pulled out a small bundle of NCR twenties, ten or so, and handed the money to Boone, "Exchange them for chips and play some blackjack or something."

"Are you sure?" Boone asked, taking the bundle of bills.

"Yeah, he'll talk much easier if it's a one-on-one talk and, besides, you guys need to relax after coming all this way with me. It's my treat."

"Colt," he turned to Veronica, "Be careful," she said worriedly.

Colt smiled and nodded, "Don't worry; if he gets too riled up, I can take him, ya dig?"

Veronica snickered as she, too, nodded and turned to join Boone at the exchange. Colt pushed through the double doors to the Ace's Theater, where Swank was waiting for him. The Ace's was dark, except for a single pool of light on the stage where a woman in a sleek blue dress was singing smooth jazz. In front of the stage was a group of ten or so tables with three chairs a piece. Only a few tables were actually occupied though. To the left of the Ace's entrance was a small bar chock full of all kinds of liquor. One or two people sat at the bar counter, that circled a corner of the theater, taking sips from glasses full of alcohol. To the right of the Ace's entrance was a few booths; all of them were empty except for the one in the corner where a young couple had taken residence. Colt followed Swank over to the occupied booth.

"Hey, get out of here," Swank told the couple as he walked up. The two just looked up at Swank. "I said scram!" Swank commanded, raising his voice to barely a yell.

The couple scoffed as they scooted out of the booth and walked out of the Theater, angry at Swank for ruining their "special moment". Swank motioned for Colt to have a seat.

"So, what is it that you wanted to know?" Swank asked as he sat in the seat with his back to the bar.

Colt sat in the seat in front of him, "I want to know everything."

"Like what? There's a lot subjects dealing with these cats; they have a long history. Just pick a subject and we'll start from there, ya dig?"

"Alright," Colt leaned back, "Let's start with Aleksander Lebedev."

"Aleksander," Swank laughed softly, "He's the leader of the whole gang and one of the founders."

"_One_ of the founders?" Colt asked, hoping there weren't more people he'd have to kill.

"Yeah, there were three others; Vladimir Ryndenko, Mikhail Voroshilov, and some other cat named Nikolai something or other. I've met the first two, but not Nikolai. Aleksander wouldn't even talk about him and the most he would say on the subject is 'regret'. So, I just guessed he got into a fight with Nikolai and the guy left before they first came to the Mojave. I think Mikhail left after they went back to California… I didn't see him when the Stallions visited a few days ago. Its just heartbreaking; that little gang is breaking up bit by bit…"

"Look, it's helpful that you told me that, but, I don't want to learn about the other leaders. The guy I want is Aleksander. Tell me more about him."

"Fine. Aleksander, along with those three other ghouls, came to America after the War. They used some old Soviet submarine, believe it or not. They lived for a few decades at the Boneyard, doing security jobs and the like. That's when Aleksander saw all the trouble that's in the Wastes and him and his friends created a gang called the 'Stallions' to protect the people.

They used to be helpful. I mean, _really _helpful. When the gang was formed and they took on new members, they started to do large caravan security jobs and town protection. Helped a lot of people and gained a lot of favor with some top class cats and even the finks at the bottom of the food chain.

Then, the war with the NCR happened and, not long after that, his gang was kicked out of the Mojave by the Families and House. That's when Aleksander lost it completely. Now, he only wants to hurt people and he already has. He's hurt a lot of people and most of them had something to do with the NCR, mainly ranchers and other business owners who provide the NCR with supplies that keep the country alive. The country is suffering from the attacks and the government wants blood… more specifically, _his_ blood, ya dig? But, here's the catch; the NCR government can't do anything about it themselves, so, Aleksander and his gang have total immunity."

"This is starting to get confusing," Colt said, leaning back, trying to process the information "Okay, the only thing that really gets me is why the NCR can't do anything about them. What do you mean Aleksander and the gang have 'immunity'? You mean they're protected from the NCR or something?"

"Well, yeah, sort of. Here, let me explain," Swank said, leaning forward, " Most of the NCR citizens hate their government because they rule with an iron fist. So, to get back at the government, they pretend to support Aleksander and then watch their government squirm as they try to figure out a way to deal with him without causing anarchy in Cali. Now, does that mean they like Aleksander? No, they hate him because of the deaths of their fellow citizens, but they hate their government so much that they support him to get underneath the government's skin. That's it, basically."

"Wait, what?" Colt asked, surprised at how deviant the citizens actually are, "They only support Aleksander because he causes the government trouble?"

"Yep. NCR citizens are deviant bastards, aren't they?"

"But doesn't the government know about the citizens' plot?"

"Well, yeah, of course," a smile crossed Swank's face, "They know the citizens are only supporting Aeksander to piss them off… but, they're not willingly to risk shooting Aleksander and causing anarchy across Cali. In reality, the government's too scared to do anything and the citizens actually hate both parties... but they hate the government more and will do anything to humiliate them."

"A deviant world we live in… alright, let's move away from the diabolical plot and the screwed up country. Tell me; what in the world happened to make Aleksander want to start a war with the NCR."

Swank shrugged, "No one knows; kept it to himself. The most someone could coax out of him was a 'broken promise'. That's it, really. What I do know is that the Stallions didn't win and they fled here."

"Alright, let's move on to another subject. How did you meet Aleksander and the Stallions?"

"I met them a few years back. I would say, around 2270 or 2271; it was before House converted the Vegas tribals into the Strip Families. Aleksander arrived right in the middle of our negotiations with House and tried to recruit us to help him and his gang in their 'noble' cause. We listened to both offers and they were almost exactly the same; clothes, food, clean water, a place to kick it. But, Aleksander offered something more; a stake in a new country… the only problem was, countries take time to get set up and all of the luxuries Aleksander offered would come later with our success.

Meanwhile, House had all those luxuries up front. You can already tell who we went with," Swank said, gesturing to the things around them, "I say we got some nice digs going with House. If we went with Aleksander, we'd still be playing in the dirt with sticks and rocks trying to run a country that would probably never get off the ground in the first place or Securitrons would be running over our dead bodies."

"Why did Aleksander come here a second time, though? The King told me about 'outstanding debts' the Strip Families owed, but Aleksander isn't credited with anything you guys have."

Swank scoffed, "Don't listen to the King. He doesn't know shit that goes on in the Strip. No, Aleksander may have went to _him_ for debts, but he came_ here_ to make trouble and intimidate us to 'change our ways' and 'join his righteous cause' or else be 'destroyed with the rest of the Old World'," Swank scoffed again as he shook his head, "I told him to beat it or else we're going to have an old school showdown. That's when the NCR came in, broke up the party, and chased the Stallions out of the Strip… being careful not cause them any harm."

"Thanks for clearing that up," Colt remembered to the security footage… one of the gang member's who was carrying a burlap sack didn't come out with the rest of the men. Colt inquired about it, "Okay, look, I know about the gang coming here because William Hans showed by security footage of that day. Now, when they left with the NCR chasing them, they were down one or two men. One of those guys was carrying a dark burlap sack. Do you remember them?"

Swank leaned back, thinking, and then answered, "Yeah, I do remember. A big guy carrying a burlap sack with a bandage on his hand stepped out of the group with a buddy of his. They rented a room, saying they had 'special plans'."

Colt's heart raced. It was Ivan; the prick who shot Colt, kidnapped Cass, and one of his family's murderers. His mind flushed with fury… and thoughts of his first, true taste of revenge. He was going to kill Ivan for all of the pain he caused Colt… someone was going to die tonight… and the burlap sack? Special plans? That bastard was going to die...

"Are they still here, Swank?"

"Yeah, why?"

"What room is he in?"

"Why?" Swank asked, looking worried and shifting in his seat. Colt didn't move… all he could think about was shooting Ivan in the head.

"What room is he in, Swank?" Colt asked again, raising his voice and making patrons of the Ace's Theater turn to them.

"Uh, R-Room 102 on the third floor. W-Why do you want to know?"

Colt abruptly stood from the booth and headed straight for the door, ignoring Swank's constant questions of where he was going and what he was doing. He bolted through the door and into the casino. He ignored all the sights, sounds, and many other distractions and just headed for the elevators on the first floor beneath the platform leading to the theater. He ignored and pushed aside Veronica and Boone as they approached him, asking if they were leaving and what happened in the theater. He ignored everything except for one thing… his thirst for revenge...


	14. First Taste

The elevator dinged and stopped abruptly as it arrived on the third floor of the Tops. Colt stepped out onto the floor, revolver in hand. He was ready to get his revenge on Ivan and finally save Cass from that rat bastard. There was actually a fifty-fifty shot at finding Cass in that room, but, since Ivan was there, those chances grew even more. Colt couldn't wait to see her again… after so long… he didn't think he'd be able to carry on this long with out her… but, now, he wouldn't have to…

The door in front of the elevator was numbered 95. Colt looked left, examining the door numbers; they started to lower by one. Right was where he wanted to go and that's the direction he began to walk, repeating the numbers in his head as he went by.

_96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101… 102_. Colt stopped in front of the stained oak door; all that was coming out of the room was a muffled Mister New Vegas relating the news. Then, an all too familiar voice spoke.

"Peter," the muffled voice of Ivan called out, "Watch the door; I'm going to have some fun with our… friend." Fury flushed Colt's senses, making every pore on his body burn with flames.

"Yeah, Ivan," the voice of the man named Peter answered. After that, there was a muffled door slam and all that was heard was Mr. New Vegas.

Colt took a step back from the door, tightening his grip on his revolver's handle and bracing his body. He lifted his foot and slammed it square in the middle of the door with all of his might, releasing some of his anger as his foot connected with the wood. The door buckled underneath the impact and splintered in two as it crashed to the floor. Colt entered, finger around the trigger of the revolver. A man jumped up from a couch that was in front of a fireplace in the main room and he threw his hands into the air as Colt quickly snapped the sights of the revolver to the man. The man was scared… he had every right to be.

"Peter," Ivan called out from the other room, "What the hell is going on out there?"

Colt lifted his finger to his lips, signaling Peter to not give him away.

"Uh," Peter hesitated, "Nothing, Ivan. I-I dropped the radio."

There was a moment of silence before Ivan spoke up again, "Well, keep it down! We're trying to have a romantic moment in here!"

"Get the fuck off me!" A third voice yelled… the voice of a woman.

Colt's heart raced, _That bastard isn't actually going to… _The mere thought just made him ever more furious.

Colt quickly, so as not to give Ivan any time, edged to Peter and removed a .44 magnum from his holster and threw the heavyset weapon into the fireplace, keeping Peter from using the weapon unless he wanted a portion of skin severely burned. Then he forcibly turned Peter around and, using the handle of his revolver, hit the back of his knee caps, making him buckle and fall to his knees in the corner of the room.

Colt grabbed the back of Peter's jacket and put the revolver to his skull, "Okay," Colt whispered, his voice shaking with rage, "I want you to tell me who he has in that room."

"I-" Peter began to say out loud, but Colt pressed the revolver against his skull again, making Peter lower his voice to a whisper, "I don't know."

"What was she wearing? Was she wearing a faded plaid shirt and blue jeans?" Colt asked further, jerking Peter back and forth.

"I don't know."

"Fine," Colt pressed the barrel harder against Peter's head, "Then tell me where the fuck the rest of the Stallions are."

"I don't know," Peter blubbered, starting to cry out of fear, "Ivan said we were done with them because Aleksander was causing more harm than good to the gang. So, Ivan left and I joined him. Please, don't kill me…"

Colt let out a grunt of frustration and released the collar of Peter's jacket, "Stay there unless you want your head blown the fuck off."

With Peter in the corner, crying like a newborn infant, and his weapon out of his service, Colt turned his attention to Ivan and the woman in the bedroom. There were muffled shouts of protest from a woman and the sound of Ivan grunting as he wrestled with her. Colt grabbed hold of the bedroom door handle and turned it, slowly opening the door. In front of the door was a queen sized bed and on the bed was Ivan, back to the door, with a smaller body pinned underneath him. Colt stepped into the room quietly and stood in the doorway, just waiting for Ivan to give him another reason to shoot him.

"Get the fuck off of me," the woman said, muffled by a gag that disguised her voice. Colt couldn't tell whether or not she was who he thought she was.

"No," Ivan laughed, the woman wrestling with him, "Aleksander may keep the good one for himself… but that doesn't mean _we_ can't have fun." He took both of the woman's hands in one of his and slowly rubbed his free hand down her body, ending at the lip of her pants.

A loud "click" pierced the air, making Ivan stop what he was doing and slowly lift his head. He slowly turned to the door and his eyes widened at the sight before him; the sight of Colt, the man he thought he killed, standing in the doorway with his revolver pointed at Ivan's head, the hammer cocked back into firing position

"I've been searching for you for a long fucking time, Ivan," Colt said, chuckling softly, "And, I've finally found you… now..."

Ivan, fear in his eyes and voice, let out a shaking gasp, "Please..."

Colt just shook his head, "You reap what you sow, Ivan; force answers force, war breeds war… and death only brings death. You are one of the people who killed my family, Ivan… time to die"

Colt squeezed the trigger, savoring every moment. He savored the moment the hammer of the revolver struck the firing pin in the bullet casing. He savored the moment the firing pin ignited the gunpowder and other chemicals in the casing. He savored the moment the combustion in the casing forced the .357 bullet forward. He savored the moment the bullet left the barrel of the gun. He savored the moment when the bullet was flying freely through the air. He savored the moment when the bullet cut through Ivan's skull like a steak knife through butter. He savored the moment when Ivan fell to the ground, dead, with a single stream of blood pouring out of the hole in the center of his forehead. Colt savored every moment…

Once Ivan came to rest on the floor, a small pool of crimson around his head, Colt felt a portion of the weight he has been carrying around his entire life lift off his chest. Although, there was still a heavy weight pressing hard against his heart… weight that can only be lifted with the death of the rest of the gang.

Colt let the heavy revolver drop his hand to his right side as he breathed heavy and labored breaths. After looking at the body of Ivan for a few moments, Colt turned to the woman who was laying on the bed, looking at Colt in shock. Colt felt a cold tear come to his eye… it wasn't Cass.

"Who the fuck are you?" The woman yelled, pulling the gag out of her mouth and hesitantly getting up from the bed, her brown hair disheveled and her shirt torn.

Colt just looked down and let the tear glide down his face, realizing that he was farther away from Cass than he thought. He had gotten his revenge against Ivan… but, what use was it when what he really wanted was still far out of reach?

The woman let her head fall, obviously realizing the man was hurt in some way, "I'm sorry," she apologized, "I-I just thought you were one of them or something. May I ask, what is your name?"

Colt just looked up slowly, another tear rolling down his cheek, "Colt," he answered, "Who are you and what are you doing here? Did they kidnap you or…?"

"My name's Elisa. Elisa Patterson and, yes, they kidnapped me from a small camp me and my friends set up south of here. They took me while everyone else was sleeping."

"Kidnapping seems to be one of their hobbies. They kidnapped a friend of mine. I thought you were-"

Colt was cut short by another third gruff voice, "Hold it, you two!"

Colt turned to the source of the voice pass the doorway; three men had gathered in the main room, pointing 9mm pistols at him and the woman. All of them wore khaki fatigues, made for the desert environment, metal helmets, and dark leather chest plates. On each of their right arms was a black armband with two white letters in the middle; "MP"… the men were NCR Military Police. Things just went from bad to worse for Colt.

"What's your name?" The leader of the group asked, pointing to Colt.

"Uh," Colt hesitated, wondering what in the world they would want with him, "Colt, Colt Spiritson. Why? What do you want?"

Peter jumped up, seeing his chance to avenge his fallen comrade, "He's a murderer," Peter yelled, pointing to Colt, "He murdered my friend, Ivan! Put him away! Put him away for life!"

"Hey, sarge," a second soldier addressed his commanding officer, "Look at that guy's jacket, right breast."

Colt looked out of the corner of his eye at Peter's jacket. On the right breast was the trademark rearing stallion emblem of the Stallions… he was fucked.

"Fuck," the sergeant said under his breath as he noticed the patch as well. He pointed the gun at Peter and unloaded three or four shots into Peter's torso. Peter shook with every shot and fell to the ground, blood seeping out of his wounds and through his jacket.

"Now wait," Colt protested, "You can't pin his death on me and send me to jail for that."

"You're damn right," the sergeant agreed, pointing his gun back at Colt again, "I'm taking credit for that one and I'm probably going to get a fucking medal for it. Besides, I'm not here to take you to jail."

"Then what do you want?" Colt was relieved that he wasn't going to jail... but, he still didn't want to know why the NCR MPs wanted him.

The sergeant smiled and holstered his pistol, "You've attracted the attention of the NCR brass. Colonel Hsu and General Oliver would like to have a word with you at Camp McCarran."

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><p><strong><span>AN: Yeah... not my best chapter ever. Sorry, but, I just couldn't think of anything else to put. Anyway, thanks for reading and reviews would be very much appreciated!**


	15. Broken Promises

**A/N: Once again, we have a chapter that will be acting as a flashback into Aleksander's past. Enjoy and, please, by all means, review and tell me what you think of the story so far; I would love to hear what you guys think! Thanks for reading!**

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><p><em>Fort Freedom, Stallions' Headquarters, Aleksander Lebedev's Office <em>

_March 21, 2268_

Aleksander pushed aside a pile of paper work on his desk and buried his face in his hands. His head pounded with a thundering headache; a headache he received from looking over hundreds of guard requisition forms from caravans wanting guards. The question is why these caravans wanted so many guards? The answer was simple: the NCR.

President Tandi was one of the greatest NCR presidents and someone Aleksander respected very much. She built her presidential platform on slow expansion and protection of the country's citizens, borders, and values. For that, Tandi earned Aleksander's respect and he gladly helped the NCR anyway he could. Aleksander was so eager to help, that he sacrificed many of his men to the NCR's cause of ridding the California Wasteland of the tyrannical Enclave. Eventually, with Aleksander and the Stallions' help, Tandi and the NCR managed to exterminate the Enclave. With the destruction of the Enclave, Aleksander thought he was finally free of the Old World… but, he was wrong.

After President Tandi's death in 2248, the two succeeding NCR presidents were focused on mass expansion and grabbing up as many resources as they could and, in the process, neglected their citizens and forgot their values… something Aleksander deeply opposed and something Tandi promised the NCR would never do. Aleksander was frustrated at the NCR. He thought they would derail the train of history and forge their own track into the future… but, they didn't. They just kept on rolling with the same shit as the countries before them; forgetting their values and citizens and only focused on grabbing up land and resources. Aleksander grew sick of it. He has tried to speak with the government but they wouldn't listen, even though their citizens fully supported Aleksander, and they continued to gather resources at the cost of their citizens and values. The citizens were too frightened to do anything about their government… so, Aleksander decided he would do something for them. That's why he called this emergency meeting with the rest of the leaders of his gang.

The door opened and in strode three other ghouls; Nikolai, Vladimir, and Mikhail. Mikhail, the muscle of the four and commander of the gang's militaristic actions, closed the door behind them while Vladimir, in charge of the gang's finances and supplies, and Nikolai, who was in charge of diplomacy, sat in the leather chairs in front of their leader Aleksander. Mikhail took up position in between Nikolai and Vladimir.

"What, no drinks, Aleksander?" Nikolai asked with a smile.

"Net, Nikolai," the leader of the group answered with a degree of importance, 'This meeting is very serious and we need to have clear minds when we make our decision."

"So, Aleksander, why _did_ you call this meeting?" Vladimir asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Because, Vladimir, like I said, we have to make an enormous decision. A decision that will affect us all," Aleksander answered as he leaned in on his desk, overlapping his hands, "This decision will decided the fate of our gang, the California Wasteland, and… the NCR."

"The NCR?" Nikolai repeated, shifting his position nervously, "What do they have to do with anything?"

"Because, the NCR… they're all traitors."

"Traitors?" Nikolai repeated again, almost laughing at the accusation, "How are they traitors? They have not done anything to us, Aleksander. They have been fair with all of our agreements."

"No, they have not been fair, Nikolai. The NCR has broken their promise. Do you remember my promise with Tandi?"

"Yes, I remember."

"They've broken it, Nikolai. They're molding their country into the countries of old."

"What? 'They're molding their countries into the countries of old'? What the hell are you going on about, Aleksander?"

"They're becoming like the countries before the War, Nikolai," Aleksander explained, becoming even more irritated, "The NCR, they don't give a damn about their citizens or their values anymore. All they care about is territory and resources."

"Aleksander, that is crazy. Who cares if they turn into the old countries? As long as we are protected and are being supplied, we will be fine."

Aleksander couldn't help it, Nikolai's ignorance had become too much for him to just sit aside and let him spout his drivel. Aleksander stood and slammed his fist on his desk in rage, knocking over his family portrait.

"Did you forget what the old countries did to us?' Aleksander yelled, his rage building, "If you forgot, maybe you should look in a mirror or maybe you should go to your bunk where you will find no wife and child waiting for you! They destroyed our lives, Nikolai, and so will the NCR if we allow them to continue to stand in the shadows of the Old World! I will not allow my life to be destroyed again nor will I allow anyone else's be destroyed!"

"Aleksander," Nikolai interjected, obviously intimidated and worried for his leader, "How do you expect us to handle them?"

"The only way they seem to know," Aleksander sat back down, but fire still burned in his chest, "Brute force."

"Brute force? But, we do not have the manpower or firepower, Aleksander," Mikhail, the military advisor, warned, worried for the sake and safety of his men.

"That's why we introduce them to another Pre-War military tactic called 'Guerilla Warfare'. We will hide in the bushes for them and strike when they're most vulnerable. We will lay ambushes and traps and attack them when they fall for our tricks. We will don their uniforms and make each of our soldiers fearsome Trojan Horses. We will do anything to bring them down and fulfill of our noble cause of ridding this earth of the Old World once and for all."

"Aleksander, doing this will lose any and all civilian support we have," Nikolai warned, "They may not like their government for what they're doing to them, but they will not give anything to people who contest their loyal military. We will lose supplies they give us, weapons they offer us, and any leverage with their government will be thrown away. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Aleksander slowly nodded, "Yes, Nikolai. We will do anything to finally show them the errors of their ways and show them their values and worth more than resources."

"No, _you_ will do anything, Aleksander," Nikolai retorted, crossing his arms, "I believe in the cause but I do not and will not support how you're going about accomplishing it. We can not fight an entire nation... we will be destroyed. Instead, I believe we should campaign harder for change and use our words to fight. If you do not see it that way, Aleksander, then… I'm sorry, but I will not die for you or the cause."

"If that's how you feel, Nikolai," Aleksander replied, heart broken that his closest friend would not support him… no, he wasn't Aleksander's friend, not anymore; not if he would turn his back on his own comrades. "Nikolai," Aleksander said, a tear coming to his eye, "Take off your jacket."

At first, Nikolai sat in silence, not believing what Aleksander said. Then, his eyes widened in disbelief. Aleksander knew… those words cut deeper than any bullet could. Nikolai, reluctantly, took off his jacket and laid it on Aleksander's desk, "Aleksander, I hope you find your way before you become lost, my friend."

Aleksander looked up from his desk, the tear cascading down his cheek, "You're not my friend. Now, leave. You are hereby banned from this fort and discharged from the Stallions. Leave at once or you will be escorted out."

Nikolai continued to watch Aleksander and, then, he broke his gaze and strode to the door at out of the room, leaving the others in silence.

"So," Vladimir said, breaking the tense silence, "You want to attack the NCR?"

"Yes," Aleksander answered, "And show them the errors of their ways before they destroy the lives of countless people in the Wasteland. Are we all agreed on declaring war with the NCR?"

"I agree," Vladimir said.

"I agree," Mikhail said, "I'll begin teaching our men about our new tactics."

"Good. Now, go so that I can focus and coordinate our first strike."

Vladimir and Mikhail nodded as they stood, turned, and left the office. Aleksander let out a shuddering breath and wiped another tear away from his eye. He took up the pile of requisition forms and Nikolai's jacket, looking between them, wondering if he was making the right decision. If he continued on, he would lose his only true friend and family member since before the War. If he stopped this madness and did what Nikolai offered, he could keep his friend, but at the potential and drastic cost to the rest of the Wasteland.

"Sacrifice one to save the thousands," Aleksander said to himself as he threw Nikolai's jacket and the forms in the trash bin next to his desk… sealing the Stallions' fate.

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><p><em>Fort Freedom, Stallions' Headquarters, Aleksander Lebedev's Office<em>

_February 9, 2273_

Aleksander picked up the 9mm pistol lying on his desk; the sleek black metal shined and glistened in the light given off by the desk lamp. He slid a fresh clip into the pistol and slid back the bolt, feeding a fresh bullet into the chamber with a metallic "click".

Ever since he declared war on the NCR, things have gone downhill. At first, the Stallions did extremely well; they ambushed NCR patrols and military caravans, gaining experience and supplies with each and every conquest. The Stallions basked in the light that was victory... until the NCR planned their own ambush.

Two years after declaring war, Aleksander caught wind of an extremely large military caravan heading towards the Boneyard that would provide large amounts of medical supplies, ammunition, and weapons. So, he set up an ambush point just miles outside of the town and waited. Finally, the caravan came and his men pounced like hungry lions on a gazelle… but, it turned out there was merely sand in the bags on the Brahmin and his own men were ambushed by hidden NCR troopers. Only one of Aleksander's soldiers survived and the NCR only needed one to find the fort.

Ever since then, a front line was drawn two miles in the front of the fort and the NCR continued to pound the line. The only factor that kept the fort from becoming overrun was the fact that Aleksander did not forget his Spetsnaz training and helped train the troops in the ways of the Russian Special Forces. But, even that did not keep the NCR from pushing the lines back and, now, they were right at the gate… waiting to come in.

Muffled pops and bangs seeped into the office from the battled raging outside. Many of his men died every day and they barely even seemed to put a dent in the NCR. Aleksander's "noble cause" was beginning to falter and he was starting to have doubts about whether or not he could help the people and their country change. He began to think Nikolai was right… but he shook all doubt out of his mind, not giving up hope that, one day, the Wasteland would finally be rid of the Old World.

The door burst open and Aleksander stood, weapon pointed at the door. It wasn't the enemy… it was Mikhail and Vladimir, both wielding Assault Carbines. Vladimir approached Aleksander while Mikhail covered the door.

"Aleksander," Vladimir urgently said, "We need to leave, now! The NCR troops are pressing hard on the front gate! We can't hold them!"

Aleksander lowered his weapon, "We can't leave… not while the NCR is defacing their values and citizens for meaningless possessions. We _need_ to show them their errors."

"Aleksander, we _need_ to leave," Vladimir continued, trying to persuade his leader, scared for his life, "The only thing we're showing them is how to lose a battle!"

"No!" Aleksander yelled, slamming his fist on the desk, "The NCR can not be left to torture the poor souls of California!"

"But, Aleksander, no matter what we do for the citizens, they don't care for us! They've lost all hope in us! They've stopped giving us supplies, weapons, and everything else! We've lost their support no matter what they say and now they're jus using us to just piss off their government! Now-"

"No!" Aleksander yelled once more as he pointed his pistol at Vladimir, not listening to a word he was saying, "We will not abandon these people to be forgotten by their government! If you have given up hope, so be it! But, don't drag the rest of us with you!"

"Easy, Aleksander," Vladimir jumped as a grenade exploded outside, "I-I'm just saying, we should fall back and regroup. I have not given up hope; we can still change the people and their government. I'm just saying, we need to leave… regroup, gain our strength, and then come back. Just… please…"

"No, Vladimir, we're no use to the people if we run away!"

"We're no use to the people if we're dead!"

Aleksander thought for a minute and then lowered his gun, "Fine. Blow a hole in the southern wall and we'll go east... to Nevada."

Vladimir nodded, relieved that his leader finally chose the right thing to do, and left with Mikhail to fulfill their leader's orders.

Aleksander, alone his office, collapsed and leaned on his desk, a tear coming to his eye. Maybe Nikolai was right; maybe this cause was a little out of reach, maybe they would be destroyed by the NCR. Maybe Vladimir was right; if the people really supported them, than they would do it instead of saying they do just to piss of their government.

But he couldn't give up hope… not if people were still suffering. That's when it hit him; the people in California would not support his cause and would not join him… but what about every where else? There must be more places out there full of people. He and his gang could possibly recruit these people to their cause.

_That's it_, Aleksander thought to himself, proud of the idea, _A little far fetched, yes, but, maybe there are people in Nevada or else where, people who are untapped by the NCR and would willingly support the cause for glory and freedom._

He turned and picked up his family portrait, smiling, trying to forget all of the doubt and focused on his idea… but there was always that shimmer in the back of his mind,


	16. Ain't that a Kick in the Head

**A/N:OK, for those of you who may have read when I first posted Chap. 16... that wasn't it. I a****ccidentally posted a previous chapter as the new one XD But, I fixed that and this is the new chapter. ****Yeah... and it's _really_ long, this one. But, it's worth it. Please, read and review! Thanks for reading and I hope you conitnue to read! XD**

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><p>Colt was walked into the dark terminal building of Camp McCarran by the sergeant that had picked him up in the Tops. He shifted his shoulders around, trying to get readjusted to having Cass' bag, shotgun, and his assault rifle on his back again. He had hoped that he would be able to give Cass her shotgun and bag back to her… but she wasn't in the room in the room with Ivan. Colt didn't give up hope, though. She was still out there somewhere and he was determined to find her no matter the cost.<p>

Veronica and Boone were waiting outside of the terminal building; they had to because General Oliver and Colonel Hsu only wanted to speak to Colt. The sergeant led Colt to the eastern wing of the building, walking past rows of slot machines, the reception desk, and a few sandbag walls with NCR troopers sitting behind them. As they approached the eastern wing and an office on the first floor, Colt and the sergeant were greeted by the sight of an NCR trooper wearing old salvaged power armor from the NCR's war with the Brotherhood of Steel. The heavy trooper wielded an enormous M60 Light Machine gun that intimidated Colt just a bit.

The heavy trooper nodded as Colt and the sergeant walked into the brightly lit office. The office was completely vacant except for a desk, chair, and computer terminal in the northeastern corner, another table, bare of any items, on the eastern wall, and a third table, sitting in front of a portrait of the NCR's esteemed president, Aaron Kimball, and an espresso machine sitting on top. Also in the room were two NCR officers having a discussion. One of the officers was wearing a green beret and the traditional desert and khaki armor the regular troopers wear with the only difference being a bandolier draped across his shoulder and over his torso. The other officer, who was obviously the superior, wore a dark beige and border line khaki colored shirt and pants with a green general's cap, sitting a top his head, adorned with star pins and one large silver pin of a two headed bear on the front.

The man who wore the khaki armor and bandolier, approached Colt, hand extended, "Colonel Hsu," he said as he shook Colt's hand. Then, he turned to his companion, "And this is General Oliver." Colt shook the general's hand, exchanging small nods.

"Sergeant, you're excused," the general said, addressing the soldier still standing in the doorway. The sergeant snapped a quick salute and then left, closing the door behind him. With the sergeant gone, General Oliver continued the conversation, "Now, Colt, I suppose you're wondering why we wanted to talk to you."

"That's exactly what I'm wondering, general," Colt said, confirming the general's suspicions.

"We know your whole story, Colt, and we know who you're looking for and why you're looking for them."

"Okay, great," Colt said sarcastically, "You guys are fucking stalkers. That makes me feel so much better. What the fuck do you guys want? You're really wasting my time."

"Don't be an ass, Colt," Hsu retorted, walking over to his visitor's left, "We _want_ to help you, but, with the way you're acting… I don't think it'll be possible."

"How could you possibly help me?"

"We can help because," Oliver began, walking over to a leather chair behind the desk in the northeastern corner of the room. He sat in the chair and leaned back, putting his hands behind his head and continued, "We have information that might prove useful to your endeavors."

"And what kind of information would that be?" Colt asked, crossing his arms.

General Oliver just smiled, "That's for us to know and for you to find out." Colt finally pieced it together…

"What a fucking cliché," Colt scoffed.

"Now, what is that supposed to mean?" Hsu asked, walking over to the espresso machine. He grabbed the mug next to the brass appliance and held the mug underneath the faucet, filling the faded white cup with black, scorching hot liquid.

"I can see right though this. You guys want me to do something in exchange for the information. Am I right?"

"This guy is smarter than we though, Hsu," General Oliver chuckled.

"Yes he is, sir," Hsu agreed, finished pouring his cup of coffee and taking a sip from the mug.

"Yes, Colt, we want you to do a little job for us. It's nothing you can't handle. Just do it, come back, we'll give you the information, and then send you and your friends on your merry little way."

"Oh yeah? Well, why the fuck should I help you or the NCR?" A fire struck in Colt's chest. Why_ should_ he help the NCR when they didn't help his family in their one time of need?

"Because, if you don't," Oliver leaned forward, ever more serious than what he was five seconds ago, "We'll put you away in jail for five counts of murder and put your friends away for aiding and abetting a criminal."

"Oh," Colt exclaimed, laughing at the threat, "Now you're blackmailing me? I love just how tainted, remorseless, and insensible the NCR is." In reality, Colt couldn't believe just how low the NCR would stoop to get someone to do something for them. He thought they were a little more honorable than this. More over, he couldn't believe that he had brought Veronica and Boone down with him…

"Don't you dare talk about the NCR like that!" General Oliver stood, pointing a trembling finger at Colt, "We care for our own and it's fuckers like you, who think they can go out on a lamb and start killing people, who deserve to be blackmailed!"

"If you cared for your own, then where the fuck were you when my family's ranch was burned down and my family was killed? You sure as fuck weren't there for us! And I 'went out on a lamb and started killing people' because you pricks were too Goddamned scared to do anything about it!"

"Calm down, both of you!" Colonel Hsu yelled over the two, putting his free hand in between them, "We're all little overstressed, so why don't we just relax."

General Oliver stared at Colt; trying to burn a hole in him, but Colt stood his ground, not budging an inch under the general's stare. Eventually, when the atmosphere climbed to the climax of tension, Oliver broke the stare, turned away, and sat back down in the office chair. Colt just let out an unstable breath, calming himself down.

"Colt," Colonel Hsu continued, "I'm sincerely sorry about what happened and I'm sorry the NCR wasn't there, but we can't just go out and start killing them if the civies support them. It would be disastrous for both sides.

Now, we have info about the Stallions and the brass decided that they could tell you and get you to kill them, since the NCR can't directly do it because the incident will rile up a whole bunch of civilians who adore the Stallions and Aleksander like a fucking idol. This way, you can fulfill your 'revenge quest', the NCR doesn't get bashed by the civilians back home for the murders, _and_ this world is rid of one more gang. But, of course, to receive this information you have to help the NCR with a job that needs done."

Colt slowly nodded, "And what if I don't accept?"

"Well," Hsu sighed, 'The brass thought of that too. If you don't accept, we will pin five counts of murder on you and we have to arrest you and your friends."

"So, I have no choice; I have to do your little 'favor' or go to jail."

"It's the only way."

Colt looked down, not wanting to have to go through this but knew he had to. He heaved an enormous sigh, "Well, if it's the only way…"

"Good," General Oliver stood, walked over to Colt, and placed a hand on his shoulder, as if nothing had happened before then, "I knew you would see it our way. Now, here's the situation; a few days ago, we lost contact with a Ranger patrol just southeast of Quarry Junction. We don't what happened to them, but it has the brass worried."

"What's so bad about that?" Colt asked, jerking his shoulder out from underneath Oliver's hand.

"When a Ranger patrol goes missing, you can't help but wonder and be worried at who the fuck did it," Hsu added, "But, we do have an idea… just before their final transmission cut off, we heard the discharge of energy weapons. The Brotherhood has already confirmed that it wasn't any of their units, so, yeah, we're kind of worried. Who else could it possibly be?"

"The brass thinks it's possibly the Enclave," the general continued as he walked over to a bookcase to the left of the door Colt came through, "They think that they may be units we missed or units that came from Mexico, Texas, or were possibly hidden from the Legion in Colorado. We have no clue if it _is_ them or where they came from."

"That's why we're sending you," Hsu continued for Oliver as the general brought over a small pile of clothes, a combat knife, black leather cowboy boots on top of the clothes, and a dark brown hat, with rings on a decorative band, on top of the boots, "You and your friends will go to the last known location of the Ranger patrol and search for clues regarding to their whereabouts. You will be joined by three squads from the Mechanized Division, with three HMMWVs, and they will assist you in any way they can."

"Any questions?" Oliver asked.

"Yeah," Colt nodded as he began to clap his hands sarcastically, "That was just fantastic the way you guys kept that flow of info up. Did you guys practice that before I came in? I mean, that was just marvelous."

"Again, Colt, don't be an ass," General Oliver held out the pile of clothes to Colt, "Get changed into these clothes."

"What? Why?" Colt protested, not wanting to surrender his extremely protective armor for this vulnerable apparel.

"Because, the brass doesn't want to look like they're worried because they hired mercenaries. So, you and your companions are going to do this while disguised as NCR Rangers. Just put on the damn clothes so you can get this over with."

Colt let out a frustrated breath as he removed Cass' bag, shotgun, and his assault rifle, placing them to the side, and then unhitched his revolver from his utility belt, gently setting it down next to the bag so that he could put it on later. Then, he began to remove his heavy and worn out combat armor. He laid the armor pieces in a neat pile, placing the largest piece, the chest plating, first and then the calf pieces, knee pads, elbow pads, and, finally, the pauldrons. Next, stripping down to a white t-shirt and black shorts, Colt removed his boots, utility belt, and the skin tight shirt and pants, laying them on top of the armor.

After he set his armor inside of Cass' partially empty rucksack, Colt, hesitantly, took one piece of clothing at a time from General Oliver and began to don the disguise that would make him appear as an NCR Ranger.

First, was a faded blue button-up long sleeved shirt that was just as tight as his own shirt and was scorching hot; he would have to adjust to the none temperature regulating fabric if he were to perform as well as he has for the past few days.

Next, he slipped on a pair of sand colored pants and tightened the lip of the pants to his waist with a brown leather belt and enormous steel belt buckle, which had a steer head engraved on the main piece. Then, Colt hitched his revolver and its black leather holster to a pair of straps on the right leg of his pants, positioning it just about in the middle of his calf.

The next piece of clothing he put on was a pair of black, fingerless leather gloves that fit, skin tight, to his hands. After the gloves, he slipped on a pair of black leather cowboy boots, making sure to stuff the pant's legs inside the boots. The boots, he had to admit, rivaled his own pair of military combat boots.

The last two things Colt put on, to complete his Ranger disguise, was a bright red scarf, which most Rangers wear, and a dark brown cowboy hat with rings on a decorative band and the sides curved.

After Colt became adjusted to the outfit, General Oliver approached him with _another_ piece of clothing; this one was not standard for the NCR, however. It was a pitch black vest with a sheath for a knife right in the middle of the torso and seven pockets, six just below the sheath that circled the front of the entire vest and one on the right breast. The pockets were a type of bandolier for the wearer's spare ammunition and other things. Colt had seen the vest before in a few holotapes his family owned; it was a Ballistics Vest that the American Pre-War military frequently used for a few years before switching to the combat armor Colt used. The vest was a little outdated, yes, but it was still a useful piece of equipment.

General Oliver held the vest out to Colt, "Here."

Colt looked down at the vest as he adjusted to the rest of his clothing, "What the fuck do you want me to do with that?"

"It's either go with some kind of armor or no armor… and we need someone to test these vests so we can start issuing them to our soldiers."

Colt let out yet another breath of frustration as he took the vest and slipped it on over his head. Then, he sheathed the combat knife in the vest's sheath, securing the blade with one or two velcro straps, and removed his lighter and pack of cigarettes from the utility belt, slipping them into the breast pocket of the vest. The vest heavily weighed him down, but would offer some kind of protection at least. He moved around in the outfit for a minute, getting a feel for it and he decided that it wasn't half bad. He might just keep… Colt, finally, put Cass' bag on his back and slung his assault rifle and Cass' shotgun on his shoulders; he was ready for the ridiculous mission that the NCR had planned for him.

"If Chief Hanlon didn't know any better, he might mistake you for a full fledged Ranger," Hsu chuckled as he examined Colt in the uniform.

"Alright, now that you have your disguise, go outside," Oliver ordered, pointing to the front of the airport terminal, "The three squads should be waiting for you with your friends and the three HMMWVs you'll be using. You're dismissed."

"Sir!" Colt yelled as he, mockingly, saluted the general.

The general and colonel just stared him down as Colt dropped the salute and left the dark and humid airport terminal, walking into the cold darkness of the Mojave. Outside, Colt was greeted by the sight of three HMMWVs, which stood for, from what Colt learned through his family holotapes, High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicles. Essentially, they were three sand colored military Humvees. Each one was plated with light armor, that small arms could even penetrate, and each one was equipped with a single Browning M2 Machine Gun. The Browning M2 is otherwise known as the heavy, intimidating, and, overall, monstrous .50 caliber machine gun that could tear apart brick walls.

Colt was amazed at the Humvees; the fact that the NCR would even be brave enough to have a Mechanized Division blew Colt away. He knew there was a few Humvees in NCR control, but he didn't think they'd actually _use_ them. They, obviously, had salvaged these and restored them to working condition and given them a fresh coat of paint; they took real good care of the few vehicles they had. But, no matter how much you fix it up, you still cannot change the fact that, before the War, these things were moving targets that screamed, "Attack me!" Colt hoped that he wouldn't end up like the Pre-War soldiers who rode in them…

There were three or four soldiers standing around each Humvee and Colt was approached by one from each group. One of the soldiers, who came from the group by the first vehicle, was wearing the standard trooper armor with a bandolier around his torso, just like Colonel Hsu. The other, from the group around the second vehicle, was also wearing the standard trooper armor, but with a camouflaged cape draped around her right shoulder. The last, from the group around the third vehicle, was wearing the standard NCR trooper armor with no added affects.

The man from the first Humvee addressed Colt as he extended a hand, "Master Sergeant Polanski, sir. I'm commanding officer of first squad. We'll be in the first Humvee." Colt just nodded and shook the man's hand.

The second soldier, also the only woman in the group of three and the one wearing the cape, extended her hand and was the next to address the disguised Ranger, "Sergeant Major Yolanda. Commanding officer of second squad and I've also been appointed the commanding officer of this patrol. Second squad will be in the second Humvee and you and your friends are to ride with us." Colt, once again, nodded and shook her hand.

Finally, the last of the three addressed Colt and extended his hand, "First Sergeant Henderson, sir. I'm commanding officer for third squad and we'll be riding in the third Humvee, bringing up the rear." Colt shook the hand of the soldier and nodded.

"Well," Colt said to the soldiers, "It was nice meeting you and, uh, hopefully this doesn't go bad, yeah?"

"Yes, sir!' The three said in unison as they departed to their Humvees.

Colt approached his designated vehicle and opened the door to the trunk, where his bag was already placed. He removed Cass' bag and shotgun and placed them inside of the rear of the vehicle. Then, he slid over his own bag and opened the smaller front pocket where he kept ten clips for his assault rifle. He removed six of them and began to slide them into the pockets on his vest. As he did so, he was approached by a disguised Boone and Veronica who emerged from two of the many tents in front of the McCarran terminal building.

Veronica wore almost the same thing, black cowboy boots, red scarf, a brown cowboy hat, and so on, with the only difference being that her shirt was a faded green and she wore dark brown pants. Under her arm, she was carrying her folded up Scribe robes and her pneumatic gauntlet was still on her fist.

Boone, once more, wore almost the exact same thing as Colt, except his shirt was white and he still had his bandolier and NCR First Recon beret on. His rifle was slung, with its strap, around his shoulder and, he too, carried his old clothes under his arm.

Colt held open the main pocket of his bag for the two, allowing them to stow their clothes inside. They placed their clothing inside the bag and Veronica, still irritated by the hat, was the first to complain.

"Don't the Rangers have any taste?" She asked, shifting the hat around, "Why do we even have to wear these shitty outfits?"

"Why _do_ we have to wear these outfits?" Boone asked, adjusting his bandolier and rifle strap.

"Because," Colt slid the last clip into the last pocket on his vest and slammed the trunk, turning to the two, "We're going to go find out what happened to a Ranger patrol that vanished south of here and the NCR brass wants us in disguises."

"We don't actually have to do this, do we?" Veronica asked, placing her hands on her hips. She obviously didn't want to do anything for the NCR. Colt didn't blame her…

"Yes, we do. One; we'll get info on where Cass and the Stallions are... more or less. Two; if we don't do it, then the NCR will put me in jail for murder and you two will go in for aiding and abetting."

"What? They can't do that, can they?"

"Yeah I know; it's outrageous and I'm sorry. I-I should've never have gotten you two in this," Colt just let his head fall, ashamed that he brought these two down to criminal level with him.

Veronica sighed, kicking a rock that was on the ground, "No matter… as long as it helps you find Cass, it doesn't matter. Besides, I've come with you this far… and its farther than I would go with William. Oh, and it's been really fun; the most fun I've had in a long time."

"Yeah, if it helps you find Cass and that gang, it doesn't matter; we'll help you and her," Boone added, then her broke into a smile, "And it has been fun."

Colt nodded and smiled, "Thanks and I'm pretty sure this'll be a lot more fun."

"So," Veronica said, leaning on the back of the Humvee, "What happened to the patrol?"

"Well, they didn't have much information except where the patrol was when they lost contact. They do have a clue though; just before the transmission was cut completely, the radio ops heard the discharge of, and you're really going to like this," Colt leaned in to the two and began to whisper, so as not to worry the troopers around the three, "Energy weapons."

"Energy weapons?" Boone whispered as well, "You mean, like, the Brotherhood of Steel?"

"No, it can't be the Brotherhood," Veronica retorted, trying to defend her home and her friends, "They have a treaty with the NCR. The Brotherhood may be technology nuts, but they respect the terms of agreements to any treaty they sign and any official document. It couldn't be them."

"Look, no one knows who did it," Colt said, trying to stop an upcoming conflict and reassured Veronica, "There was no hint at who did it with the exception of the energy weapons. But, the NCR brass does have one culprit in mind… the Enclave."

"The Enclave?" Boone chuckled, "Any Enclave units that were in California or the Mojave were wiped out decades ago; there's no way it could be them."

"They said it may be a possibility that they came from Mexico, Texas, or were hiding from the Legion in Colorado… they don't know. That's why we're being sent to investigate and find out what happened to them."

"Alright, listen up!" The voice of Sergeant Major Yolanda called out from behind Colt, gathering everyone's attention, "We'll be going on a small a patrol and we'll be accompanied by three Rangers; Ranger Spiritson," she gestured to Colt, "Ranger Boone," she gestured to Boone, "and Ranger Santangelo," she gestured to Veronica, "So, you're all acquainted. Now, let's saddle up and let's go!"

A few claps and cheers came from the men and woman, the mediocre applause wasn't exactly reassuring and helpful, and then they began to pile into the vehicles. Colt walked to the front passenger door and climbed into his spot in the front of the vehicle, placing his rifle in between his legs. Veronica sat in the seat behind him, leaning back and enjoying the first time she's sat down in a long time. Boone, however, had to wait while an NCR trooper climbed in the Humvee and took up position in the hole in the roof and behind the .50 caliber. After the soldier was settled in behind the heavy machine gun, standing in a small space in between the two back seats, Boone finally took his position in the back while Sergeant Major Yolanda took her position in the driver's seat.

This Humvee was unlike the one's Colt had seen, which were usually filled with all kinds of equipment. This Humvee was stripped bare of everything except for a radio under the dashboard and just above the gear shifter for the manual transmission.

"Alright," Yolanda said as she dug into one of the many pockets on her uniform and pulled out a set of keys, "Let's crank this up." She stuck the keys into the ignition and turned it, cranking up the diesel engine and starting the old Humvee. The other's started up shortly after, their engines making the same humming sound.

"Let's hope this goes well," Colt said, shifting his position in the seat.

"What makes you say that?" Yolanda asked as she put the Humvee in gear and followed the lead vehicle towards the Camp McCarran main gate.

"Because… my family had old holotapes of documentaries about the Pre-War military… let's just say that these vehicles weren't always the safest to ride around in while going through hostile territory."

They turned left after exiting the gate and continued south, heading towards Quarry Junction. It was relatively quiet, except for the hum of the engines, which scared off Fiends and small critters that would've been lethal if on foot. But, the quiet was not what worried Colt. What worried him was the speed they were going. He peered over at the speedometer; the needle was staying steady on 10. The slower they went meant the slower they would be able to complete this distraction of a mission which, in turn, meant the longer it would take for Colt to find the Stallions and Cass.

Colt turned to Yolanda and addressed the speed issue, "Why are we going so slowly?"

"Because," Yolanda explained, staring at the vehicle ahead of them, 'It conserves fuel. Don't want to waste it all, now do we?"

Colt scoffed as he leaned back in the chair and looked out his door's window. They had finally turned onto I-15 and were continuing south, passing an old railroad station and climbing a steep slope. As they neared the middle of the slope, something out in the wilderness caught Colt's eye. He turned to see what it was; it was a fully grown Deathclaw.

Colt warned the others, "Deathclaw," he said, picking up his rifle and holding it in a fire-ready position.

"Where?" The soldier on the .50 caliber asked.

"West; just off the side of the road," Colt answered, pointing out the window at the Deathclaw as they began to pass it.

The soldier pointed the turret to the enormous, alligator-like beast, "Got it."

The beast turned to them, noticing the Humvees for the first time. At first, he walked to them, investigating the metallic vehicles and the fleshy beings they were hauling. Then, he realized the vehicles weren't a threat and broke into a full sprint, arms open and ready to tear them apart. The Deathclaw was right; the vehicles weren't a real threat… but, the soldier on the .50 caliber was more dangerous than anything the Deathclaw would ever encounter. The soldier on the turret laughed as he took aim and fired five shots at the beast. The rounds landed and tore the Deathclaw apart, shredding through it like a knife through paper. The beast fell, with a thud, to the pavement, blood pouring out of its wounds.

The threat gone, Colt leaned back in the chair again and rested for a minute, trying to relax. He turned to Yolanda, "I'm going to take a short nap. Wake me when get to the spot, alright?"

Yolanda nodded, acknowledging Colt's request, and Colt leaned back even farther, trying to sleep for the first time in a while. But, he couldn't. He just kept having the same exact nightmare he's been plagued with for the past few years of his life. The dream of him discovering his farm destroyed and family murdered. It was no use to sleep because he would just open his eyes a few minutes later out of fear. Then, he remembered back in Novac that night he and Cass spent the night in the old motel room; he slept peacefully for the first time in years. He needed Cass to keep those painful memories away and focus on the rest of his life… Colt pulled out Cass' pendant from underneath his shirt and held it in his closed fist as he tried to sleep again.

This time, he dreamt of that quaint little farm in the middle of a sunny day, with the father and son out in the field, tending to the crops and Brahmin, while the mother and daughter worked to wash clothes and fix supper. Big band music fluttered through the air, giving the entire area a peaceful and cheery atmosphere. A smile spread across Colt's face as he continued to watch the farm.

But the smile faded as the big band music was replaced with a loud explosion and sound of exchanging gunfire. The sun was replaced with clouds of bellowing smoke from the fires that burned. The cheery atmosphere disintegrated as it was replaced with an intense warzone; people screaming in terror and pain and… tires squealing. Colt jolted awake in time to see a lamp post closing in on the front of the Humvee and he lifted his hands up, protecting his face from a hail of glass that flew towards him as the vehicle collided head on into the post with sickening crash.


	17. For the Republic

Colt opened the Humvee's door and fell to the ground, just barely missing a hail of laser bolts as they melted through what was left of the windshield and landed exactly where he was sitting. In a daze, he looked around at the mayhem that was unfolding, bewildered at what was going on. The patrol was exactly where they needed to be, but, apparently, they were suffering from an ambush by an unknown enemy.

His Humvee had veered off the road and crashed into a lamppost, where it was now resting, the light steel armor of the Humvee's chassis mangled around the post with bits of the armor plating jutting out in awkward directions. Fortunately, the gunner and .50 caliber were still active and he was now firing the enormous shells wildly at the ridge where the red laser and green plasma bolts were coming from.

The lead Humvee was still on the road… just not operational. It was lying in the middle of the interstate, the entire thing destroyed and blackened with the doors blown off into the brush. The seatbelts were the only things that kept the crisp corpses of the vehicle's occupants from falling to the ground and disintegrating into a fine black dust. Colt looked away from the gruesome sight and towards everything else.

The third, rear Humvee was parked in a defensive position behind Colt's designated vehicle. It's chassis scorched from severe laser burns and chunks missing from the rare plasma bolt that would strike and melt away the metal. The gunner of that Humvee was firing wildly at the same ridge as the other surviving the gunner.

Colt turned to the men and woman from the patrol who were alive; they had taken up defensive positions behind the two remaining Humvees, firing potshots at the hostile ridge. Veronica was the only one not firing, because of the lack of a ranged weapon, and she had her back to Humvee and her hands over head, protecting herself from fragments of metal blown off of the Humvee by the many laser bolts hailing down on their position.

Colt, regaining his composure, remembered the driver, Sergeant Major Yolanda, who was still sitting in the front seat of the vehicle. He climbed up and into the open door of the front passenger side, making sure to stay beneath the dashboard, and tried to pull Yolanda out so that the medic could treat her wounds. Grabbing her arm, he began to slowly pull her body out of the seat until she fell, limply, across the seats. She wasn't breathing… dead from a laser bolt that struck her face and seared it to a fine, blacken crisp that began to flake, revealing patches of bright red flesh. Colt jumped back, disgusted by the sight and almost vomited. Flashes of what he found at his home sprung into his mind and he backed away from Yolanda's burned corpse in terror. Veronica noticed Colt, who was lying on the ground and holding his hand to his mouth, trying not regurgitate.

Veronica crawled to him, staying low as laser bolts continued to fly above her head, "Are you alright?"

Colt just looked at her, still bewildered, "What the fuck is going on?"

"We've been ambushed!" She answered, ducking as another volley of laser bolts flew overhead and landed a few yards away.

"By who?"

"I don't fucking know!"

Colt just looked around, still confused and dumbfounded. Finally, the information he learned on the military holotapes kicked in; he needed to assess the situation. He stood himself up on all fours and crawled to the passenger side door, crouching behind the vehicle. Veronica did the same as she too went back to crouching and, all though she didn't show any sign of fear, cowering behind the Humvee. Colt removed his M16 from the floorboards and, using the Humvee as cover, slowly made his way to the front so as to get a better view of the attackers. He drew a long, deep breath and then peeked around the front of the vehicle, only catching a glimpse of the ambushers before a laser bolt struck just a few inches away and made him retreat back to safety.

What he did see in that little five second window he had, was large shadows crouched on top of a raised, cement platform next to the railroad tracks. The shadows occasionally stood, firing volleys of laser and plasma bolts at the men and women they had pinned down.

Colt wanted to know just whom they were dealing with and he turned to Boone, the only one here with a scope powerful enough to see the aggressors. "Hey, Boone!" Colt yelled, trying to get his voice above the discharge of firearms and of the .50 caliber machine guns.

"What?" Boone asked as he peeked out, firing another .308 round from his rifle, and ducked back into cover. He dug out five bullets from the pocket of his bandolier and began to load them into the rifle's receiver

"You have a scope on your rifle! You can see who those guys are, right?"

"Yeah, why?" Boone peeked around the Humvee again, quickly took aim, and fired a shot. One of the ambushers fell from the platform and landed on the ground with a loud, metallic thud that Colt even heard.

"What can you see?"

Boone quickly looked through his scope and examined the shadows in the distance, "I see… power armor! They're using power armor!"

Colt thought for a minute, _Power armor? They must be Enclave… or maybe Brotherhood? What the fuck have I gotten myself into?_

A blood-curdling scream pierced the air and Colt's train of thought. Above him, the machine gunner stopped firing and was pressing his hands against his face, holding a sick black burn that engulfed the entire right half of his face. He screamed, rocking back and forth, trying to distract himself from the horrible pain. Finally, he was put of his misery by two laser bolt that glided through his chest, causing blood to drain from the soldier's body and run down like a thick, crimson waterfall onto the back seats of the Humvee. The soldier, limply, dropped from the inside of the hole and came to rest in the back of the Humvee, his lifeless body strewn across the seats… he was dead.

Colt just sat there, not knowing what to do next…

First Sergeant Kenderson ran to the Humvee behind Colt and swung open the back door; as if nothing fazed him. He delicately pulled out the gunner's lifeless corpse and laid him on the ground with a gentleness one sees in a father as he lays his son to rest in bed. When his soldier was laid on the ground, Kenderson placed his fingers against the dead man's neck, out of false hope that there was a chance he was still alive. After a few minutes, a dreadful look slipped on his face as he removed his fingers and slammed his fist on the soldier's torso, frustrated that he was gone. Kenderson quickly looked up from the dead man in front of him, turning to the platform and then to the .50 caliber gun, rage filling in his pupils. He clambered up and into position behind the heavy machine gun, wanting revenge for the loss of his man and fired off shot after shot at the aggressors. But, his quest was short lived as two laser bolts came screaming through the air and punctured his shoulder. Kenderson let out a scream of pain as he grasped his injured body part, crimson blood streaming out and over onto his hand and clothes, dyeing them a deep red.

Colt shuddered for a moment as Kenderson called out for help and screamed in agony. Finally, Colt regained his courage.

_I'm no use to these soldiers, or Cass, just sitting here and cowering for my own safety. They need me,_ he thought to himself as he mustered up what was left of his bravery and crawled to the back of the Humvee, where Kenderson laid, his wounds gushing blood.

Colt grabbed Kenderson by the edge of his armor breast plating and began to pull him out of the deathtrap Humvee and onto the ground. Kenderson let out a grunt full of pain as the exit wound hit the ground with force. As the injured man lay on the ground, Colt applied what little medical knowledge he knew to work and put pressure to Kenderson's wound, trying to stall the seemingly endless stream of blood. But, it was no use; the tsunami of crimson liquid just kept pouring out and over Colt's hands, staining the fingerless gloves he was wearing.

"Fuck," Kenderson exclaimed, looking at the wound, "There's no way I'm surviving this… I'm losing too much blood… I'll die of blood loss before I even get to a real doc…"

"No, no, no," Colt protested, putting more pressure on the wound, "All we need to do is patch it up real quickly with some gauss," he turned to the other soldiers, "Medic! Get the medic over here!"

A man, wearing a helmet and armband that displayed a red cross, looked back towards Colt and nodded. He took a step out of cover and began to jog, while crouched so as to avoid incoming fire, towards his injured commander. The medic only managed to get half way to his patient before a laser bolt struck his head, killing him instantly and collapsing to the ground, still and unmoving.

Kenderson turned his head to the down medic and then to Colt, "That fucking sucks," he said, solemnly laughing at the situation, "Hey," Colt turned his head to the dying man before him, "Find out who the fuck caused all of this… fucking kill them for me…" With his final words, Kenderson faded and drew his last breath.

Colt let his head fall… he was in charge now… and he wasn't going to let the rest of the soldiers die. The second thing he learned from the military documents was adapt to the situation at hand and that was what he was going to do. He removed his blood stained gloves, not wanting the crimson blood stuck in the gloves pores to dabble with his mind. Then, he grabbed his assault rifle and ran to the second Humvee, dodging laser bolts as they flew past his head and narrowly missed his feet as they some landed on the ground. He took up position against the front passenger side door.

"Alright," Colt yelled, "Someone explain to me when this all went to shit!"

"Well," a soldier in front of him answered as he hid in cover, "We just broke the crest of the hill and the lead Humvee was struck by a missile! Then the other two Humvees came under intense fire! Sergeant Major Yolanda was hit and your Humvee crashed straight into the lamppost! First Sergeant Kenderson then ordered his Humvee to be parked into a defensive position behind yours! That's it, really!"

"Great, now that that's straightened out, let's adapt to the situation. Boone, how many are they?"

Boone looked through his scope and examined the platform, "I'd say around… twenty!"

Colt's heart raced; there was no way on earth six or seven of them could take on twenty power armored who had an excellent position over the minuscule force below... it was hopeless… no, he _had _to fight and he _had _to adapt... he _had _to find Cass. Colt leaned his M16 assault rifle against the Humvee, steadying the weapon and taking aim at one of the power armored troopers. Letting out slow breath, Colt squeezed the trigger, releasing a three round burst and allowed it fly though the air and reach it's mark, tearing through the power armored soldier's armor and slicing through his helmet, sending up a red mist of blood as the rounds left the other side. The soldier fell backwards as another man stooped beside him. Colt pulled back into cover as a laser bolt nearly missed him.

"Uh," Colt hesitated, thinking of a way for these guys to get out of here safely. That's when it hit him; when in doubt, call for reinforcements, "We need to contact someone and get reinforcements sent here… now! Does anyone have a radio?"

"The Humvees are equipped with radios! Underneath the dashboard and above the gear shifter!" A soldier answered over the fir arm discharge.

Colt looked in the window of the door he was suing for cover; right where the soldier had designated sat a radio with the receiver hanging off the side. He quickly swung open the passenger door to the Humvee and leaned inside, making sure to stay below the dashboard. He pulled the receiver off the hook and began to hail Camp McCarran.

"Camp McCarran, Camp McCarran," Colt said urgently, trying to get help for the people around him, "This Alpha Two of Mechanized Division Patrol Alpha on I-15, over."

A few seconds of dreadful static came through the speaker and, finally, someone answered, "Roger that, Alpha Two; Camp McCarran copies. What's your situation, over?"

"We have been ambushed, I repeat, ambushed. I count twenty power armored suspects on an over watch position, a platform about fifty yards off the ground, raining heavy fire with energy based weapons."

"Roger that. What's the status of the rest of the squads in your patrol, over?"

"First squad's Humvee was destroyed at the beginning of the engagement—shit," Colt ducked as laser bolt passed through the Humvee's windshield and struck just above his head, "Second squad and third squad are mostly intact, although their commanding officers, Sergeant Major Yolanda and First Sergeant Kenderson, are deceased. There are only six or seven of us left; we _need_ reinforcements, over."

There was a long, suspenseful pause before McCarran answered, "Roger that. We're dispatching two patrols to reinforce your units. ETA, ten minutes, over."

"Roger—"

"What the fuck is that?" A soldier yelled, cutting Colt off in mid-sentence.

Colt turned to see what in the world he was talking about; there was a small, metal cylindrical object lying on the ground right in the middle of their defensive line. As soon as Colt caught a glimpse of it, the object erupted into a bright flash and released an extremely loud, ear-splitting bang. Colt fell to the ground, blinded and deafened by the ordinance that Colt thought was a flash bang. All he heard was an extremely loud ringing and all he could see was an intense light with brightness that rivaled the sun's.

He suffered through the dynamic duo for minutes, which seemed like an eternity, until the brightness subsided and the ringing quieted. Colt looked to his left; his assault was only a few inches. He tried to move his arm, so he could grab the rifle and defend himself, but he couldn't move his arm… he couldn't move any part of his body except for his eyes. Whoever the attackers were, they had some access to some high-end technology, 'cause that wasn't just a flash bang; it disabled sight, hearing, and all motor control functions completely.

A dark shadow was cast over his body. He looked up; two men dressed in suits of gray power armor were standing over him and looking down at the defenseless man.

"He's not NCR," one of the men said, his voice muffled by the helmet.

"How do you know?" The man's accomplice questioned, not understanding what the other meant.

"Because, he's too experienced to be anything the NCR put out," he then pointed to the Veronica and Boone, "And he's traveling with those two and they're not with the NCR… especially the girl."

"Is that—"

"Yes, it is," the other answered before his accomplice could even sputter out the question.

"What do you want us to do with them, sir?"

"Get the three and put them and their gear in the operational Humvee; we're… confiscating… that piece of equipment. Then, do what the Elder said to do with the NCR soldiers… but do it when I leave… I don't want to be here for it."

"Yes, sir!" the man saluted and then filed out to fulfill his leader's requests.

The leader bent down and examined Colt, "I've been following you for awhile; you're one tough son-of-a-bitch," he grabbed Colt's chin, moving his head from side to side to check for any injuries, "You also hate the NCR… so, why would you be working for them?" He noticed that was looped around Colt's neck. The man picked up the chain and followed it down to Colt's chest, finally pulling out Cass' pendant from underneath the shirt and vest. He continued to examined it, "Now I understand; you're looking for her, aren't you? Well, I'll tell you right now, the NCR isn't going to help…"

Colt managed to lift his hand up, through much protest and pain from his muscles, and grabbed the pendant from the unknown man. He then began to fade and passed out, the pendant still in his clenched fist.


	18. The Beginning

**A/N: Okay, we have one last flashback chapter and, I have to say, this may be one of the most emotional... well, towards the end anyway. Now, there's really only one other thing I can discuss with you and that's what an M14 is. An M14 is an American heavy duty battle rifle and, if you want a picture of it in your head, then think of it as This Machine pumped full of steriods... that's what an M14 basically is; an M1 Garand pumped full of steriod****s and with a box magazine. So, now you have that picture in your head, please enjoy the chapter. By all means, please review and tell me what ya think!**

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><p><em>Somewhere south of New Vegas, Mojave Wasteland<em>

_2274_

Aleksander wiped a bead of sweat off his brow with his gloved hand. The Stallions have been walking for hours on end in the scorching hot sun, tying to distance themselves from New Vegas. They had gone there to regroup, maybe even recruit new members to their cause of liberating the Wasteland from tyrannical organizations and governments like the NCR. Aleksander had hoped that they would be walking back with double or even triple their numbers with loyal members who would show the NCR that a free Wasteland was what everyone wanted… but, that didn't happen.

Instead, they met Mr. House… another tyrannical form of the Old World. Robert Edwin House was the CEO and founder of RobCo Industries and, therefore, he was responsible for escalating the events up until the Great War. Many countries, mainly the United States of America, bought and commissioned robots invented and manufactured by RobCo and these robots were tools of war in conflicts that only decimated and destroyed the world even more. House was one of the main cogs that only spun the gears of world destruction faster and faster. Aleksander had a severe hatred for the man, especially since many of his fellow comrades were gunned down and massacred by RobCo robots, and thought he had suffered in the two hour long bombardment… apparently, Aleksander was wrong and, now, House was here in the Old World and, chances were, he would propel the world to another disaster.

House was already half way to doing so; he was recruiting the tribes that had taken residence in the ruins of Vegas. Aleksander tried to persuade the local tribes to abandon House and the futile possessions he dangled in front of their faces. At first, the tribes listened to Aleksander as he preached of glor and a utopia free from oppression and obsession and the marvelous things to come once this utopia was fully established. It even appealed to the tribes… at first. But the temptation of material possessions on the spot swayed the tribes over into Mr. House's shadow… they sold out just as the Old World inhabitants did nearly every day.

Aleksander couldn't take the continual reoccurrence of the Old World and, finally, he caused the whole situation to erupt into a small war by shooting a Securitron House sent to him to try and convert the Stallions over to his side. It was a long and grisly war that lasted for several months. The Stallions, with the help of Aleksander's leaderships, held out for several months at the already fortified base of McCarran. Finally, the combined forces of Mr. House's Securitrons and the Vegas tribes pushed the Stallions out of New Vegas area completely. Now, the Stallions were on then run, traveling down the tattered and destroyed I-15 with their numbers severely decreased from 150 strong to a measly 25. The Stallions had been beaten back again… the Old World triumphed once more… Aleksander's hope was beginning to fade...

Aleksander didn't know what to believe in or what he should do; he was beginning to lose all hope in his noble cause and he was beginning to think his men were too. The New World was just standing in the shadows of the old and, no matter how hard Aleksander tried to push the New World into it's own light, it still stood strong in the shadows. It started to show him that it was no use to save the inhabitants of this New World… they just wouldn't listen to him, a person who has experienced what the Old World was like and felt the pain that the Old World brought to every soul, and they continued to travel down the path of the people before them. What finally showed Aleksander his cause was nothing more than dream was when the Vegas tibals refused his offer of forming an independent country bent on freedom and, instead, chose the possessions offered by House. They sold out their beliefs and freedom for possessions and resources just as the Old World countries and their inhabitants did centuries before them. Aleksander finally saw the light; there was no way to rid the New World of the old… there was no way to stop the suffering that people felt now and the suffering that would occur in the future… there was no way to stop _his_ suffering… well, there was no way to stop any of it _peacefully_.

Finally, Aleksander decided that if he couldn't keep the New World from becoming like the old, to rid this world of the Old World, or commit the people into changing their ways and stop the suffering… then he would make them suffer just as he did and show them the pains of the Old World and the suffering that would come if they didn't see the error of their ways.

"Aleksander," a voice from behind him gasped. It was Mikhail, the old war dog, with his heavy M14 battle rifle slung over his shoulder, was walking a few feet behind Aleksander, a limp in his step from when he tripped trying to see every one of his men out of the fortified airport. Mikhail gasped as he talked to his leader, "Where… are we going?"

"We're going back to California," Aleksander answered emotionlessly as he continued to walk forward.

"California?" Mikhail asked, surprise and fear filled his voice. He stopped dead in his tracks, obviously not wanting to go back to the state, and every one of the men stopped as well. Aleksander, noticing his footfalls were the only ones that echoed out, stopped and looked at the stalled group, blackness in his eyes.

"Let's go… now."

"Why are we going back to California, Aleksander? What will we do? The NCR will slaughter us if we set foot back into that state."

"Why are we going back to California?" Aleksander repeated as he walked towards Mikhail, "Because, I have finally seen the light, Mikhail. None of the inhabitants in this New World cares for values or peace or freedom; they care for material possessions and resources, just like the old countries and people. So, I'll tell you what we'll do in California… we're going to cause the NCR and their pathetic citizens as much pain as possible to show them what their possession harboring ways will cause them."

"But, what happened to saving the NCR citizens and the rest of the populace of the Wasteland? What about freeing them from the clutches of the Old World?"

Aleksander, no emotion showing on any part of his body, answered coldly, "They're a waste of our breath. It's no use to try and 'free' them if they continue to embrace the Old World's cold, dead hands."

"So, that means we should make them suffer?"

"They're going to make themselves suffer in the future anyway. They don't know what kind of damage they're doing by shutting in their ideals," Aleksander said, smiling with disgust at the people he spoke of and what their future will be, "Generation after generation will not know right from wrong and will always believe that money or material possessions are what truly matters in the world.

One such value is Democracy, which many NCR citizens have no true grasp on and, as a result, they suffer and so will the future generations because their forefathers did not understand and teach them about the important Democracy. These future generations will not know that they actually have a say in their government and, without that knowledge, they will continue to allow their government to rule with an iron fist. Without knowing Democracy's nature, they will have no say in matters that will drastically affect their way of life.

As you can see, it's despicable and, if we can't get the populace to understand the damage they're doing through reasoning or persuasion… then the only other option would be violence; cause them pain and show them what will happen if they continue their ways. We will_ make _them listen to us!"

"You know, of all the values you accuse the old countries of having, you forgot one, Aleksander."

"What? Which one could I possibly have forgotten?"

Mikhail took a step forward, looking Aleksander in his emotionless eyes, "Forcing others to accept your own ideals and to change their ways."

Aleksander let the sick smile fade away, staring coldly at Mikhail. Mikhail was turning on him, just like Nikolai. He couldn't believe what he was hearing; his own friend was accusing him of holding a value of the countries he hated.

"Are you suggesting that I am keeping one of the old countries' values, Mikhail?" Aleksander asked, his anger and hurt shaking his voice.

"Not only are you keeping one, but you are keeping the value the old countries held closely."

Rage built up in Aleksander's chest. How could his own friend tell him he has anything in common with the countries he hated? He had nothing in common with those countries.

Aleksander held his rage before it could explode into a violent conflict and let out a quivering breath filled with anger as he said his last words to Mikhail, "How dare you even compare me to those Godless bastards? Mikhail, you are relieved from your duties in this gang. Take off your jacket and leave." Mikhail just stared at Aleksander as he removed his rifle from his shoulder and removed his jacket, thrusting it into Aleksander's clutches.

"Aleksander, I may be a war dog, but even I know it's wrong to kill innocent people over ideals. I didn't join the Red Army or your gang to fight for ideals; I joined to fight for the protection of the people I loved… I know you joined for that reason too, Aleksander, but you seemed to have forgotten about the people... you will only cause more harm than good..."

"Goodbye, Mikhail," Aleksander sternly said, not changing his mind whatsoever.

Mikhail nodded, "Goodbye, Mikhail. I will pray for your soul."

With that, Mikhail slung his rifle over his shoulder and, looking back at his former friend once more, walked away from the group and towards a ridge out into the Wasteland. Aleksander watched him as he felt a twang of regret… but there was no turning back.

_Sacrifice one to save he thousands,_ Aleksander thought to himself as he took one last look to the jacket and threw it to the ground, dust being thrown up into the air and coming to rest on the black leather.

Aleksander let out a heavy breath and continued down the road. Many thoughts of doubt came to his mind; thoughts such as whether he was going about this right and whether or not violence was the solution. No, violence _was_ the solution; it was the only way the people would listen and realize the pain and suffering they would bring upon themselves and other generations to follow… and to show them the error of their ways and to change their ways was the only way for Aleksander to end the pain and suffering he had endured his whole life… nothing was changing his mind now… the NCR and their citizens had to suffer… he had to end his suffering…

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><p><em>A few miles south of Shady Sands, New California Republic<em>

_August 25, 2275_

Aleksander inhaled the tobacco from the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, the embers lighting up his emotionless face in the cold rain that plagued and blackened the day. He watched the ranch below, a whole a fifty acres of crops and livestock. Just below the cliff Aleksander was standing on, and on the southernmost section of the ranch, there was a large section of mixed crops, ranging from Maize to Broc Flower, which took up ten acres of land. On the far northern side of the crops was a large section of fencing that took up the thirty acres in between the crops and residential aspects of the farm. The fenced area was split into four sections; the two southern sections were being used to hold ten head of Brahmin and ten head Bighorners each while the two northern sections were being used as grazing pastures. Past the livestock and crops was the residential part of the ranch; a farmhouse, a three story wooden building with lights shining through the windows and shadows dotting back and forth past the panes of glass, and two red barns that flanked the main house.

Aleksander continued to examine the ranch, his trained eyes picking up and shifting to the slightest bit movement. He removed the cigarette from his mouth, releasing a cloud black smoke. A quick movement caught his eye and his trained pupils instantly snapped to the source of the movement. It was a man, dressed in faded denim coveralls, that was leaving one of the bright red barns and jogged for the farmhouse. He was one of the owners of the ranch and he allowed his ranch to become a safe haven for drug addicts and mere travelers who passed by on the trails. It was a nice little farm that helped many people… the only problem was the fact that they helped the wrong people; possessive NCR citizens and their tyrannical government. Eliminating the ranch would severely cripple the NCR war machine and it would be like a blockage in a human vein; cutting of off blood circulation would mean total devastation to the rest of the body. Destroying this ranch would cause much pain and suffering to the NCR, it's tyrannical government, and it's pathetic citizens.

A rock clattered from behind Aleksander as a piece of mineral fell from a much larger source and began tumbling down to the bottom of the small mountain. Aleksander turned to see who was encroaching upon him; it was fifteen men dressed in black leather jackets with rearing Stallions on their right breast and .44 magnums, their now adopted weapon, on their hips. Fourteen of the loyal men waited below while another, Vladimir Ryndenko, climbed up to stand beside their illustrious leader.

Vladimir began looking up and down the roads, obviously fearing that an NCR patrol might see them, and addressed his leader, "Aleksander, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Why? Are you going to run out on me too, Vladimir?" Aleksander asked, taking in another huff of smoke.

"No, Aleksander," Vladimir retorted, defending himself and proving his loyalty to Aleksander and his cause, even though he had his doubts, "I just wanted to make sure this is what you want. After this… there's no turning back and we'll be on the run from the NCR. You know they won't take this lying down and you know there's no hiding from them."

"You're wrong, Vladimir," Aleksander said, rejecting his companion's comment and removing the cigarette from his mouth, "The citizens will provide all of the protection that we need. Those demented people will continue to 'support' us just to watch their government squirm under the pressure of trying to figure out what to do. But, if the NCR gets brave, then there is a place we can go that will be far from these demon's clutches."

"And where would that be, Aleksander?" Vladimir's doubt was more prevalent in his voice this time. He truly thought Aleksander was so ignorant as to not have a place where he could run to in case he needed to? Vladimir was wrong.

Aleksander didn't say a word as he opened his jacket and removed a small brochure, whose colors were faded, and handed off the small piece of paper to his new second in command. Vladimir took the piece of paper and held it close to his face, trying to examine it through the gray darkness of the rain that overwhelmed them.

Vladimir's eyes widened as he realized what was written on it, "Aleksander, how do you expect us to get there? It would surely be a long walk… and it wouldn't be very pleasant."

"That's why we don't walk," Aleksander turned to Vladimir and took the brochure back, placing it delicately in his jacket pocket, and the turned to ranch once more, gently huffing on the cigarette, "Back in Fort Freedom, there is a special little machine that the American Pre-War government left behind. It would prove very useful in quickly getting us to our destination."

"Wait, you don't mean—"

"Yes, Vladimir, that's exactly what I mean," Aleksander said, answering Vladimir's question before it could leave his mouth.

"But, how do you know that the NCR hasn't already gotten to it?"

"Because, you need a special code to open the doors and explosives would only leave small blast powder residue. The machine is tucked away, safe and secure for us to come and get it. Once we destroy the ranch, we'll drop off a couple men to guard it and, when we absolutely need it, we'll call it in and get out of here. It's that simply, my friend."

Vladimir nodded, understanding the plan, and looked down upon the ranch, "So, how do we go about doing his?"

Aleksander thought for a moment, thinking of the best way to do this deed and then answered Vladimir, "First, we kill the livestock. Quick and cleanly kill every single head of Brahmin and Bighorner and then pile their corpses in the center of the crops… burn them both. Once that's done, I'm pretty sure the owners and who's ever in the ranch and farmhouse will come out to investigate. Once they do, gather them in the Brahmin pen… kill them with one shot apiece and pile their bodies inside the pen. Finally, we burn the farmhouse and barns to nothing but ash and rubble."

"How will the NCR know we've done this?"

"Leave one of our jackets behind… that should be enough. Now, enough questions, Vladimir… let's go."

Aleksander threw cigarette to the ground and began to slowly descend down the cliff face, making sure not to slip on the rocks. His men began to follow shortly afterwards, cursing under their breath as they climbed down after their leader.

This was it; after this deed, they would officially be declared terrorists by the NCR and will be hunted down no matter the cost. It didn't matter, Aleksander just wanted to cause the NCR pain and show these people that their ways were wrong and has been wrong for years. Thankfully, the few men he had with him thought the same and were fiercely loyal to him…

But, what Aleksander didn't tell his troops was something that would more than likely change their minds. A young boy was sent off of the ranch and towards the NCR capital Shady Sands. Whether that boy lived at the ranch or not, Aleksander didn't know. But, if he lived there and that was his family that owned the ranch… Aleksander's heart ached at the thought of that poor boy when he would find them all dead… but, it was necessary to sacrifice his happiness… it was the only way to truly be rid of the Old World… sacrifice one to save the thousands…

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><p><em>A few miles south of Shady Sands, New California Republic<em>

_August 25, 2275_

_Two hours after the destruction of Spiritson Livestock n' Crops_

Aleksander looked back behind his group of soldiers, who were laughing at the mayhem they had caused and were chanting jeers at their sworn enemy, the NCR, as they left through the main gate of the ranch. There was a young boy sitting in the ashes of where the front porch of the farmhouse used to be. He was crying, shifting through the ash and rubble and burying his face in his hands as wave upon wave of tears overcame the corners of his eyes.

The young boy didn't do anything except weep at the loss of his family… just as Aleksander did centuries before... the boy didn't do anything at all to deserve this... A tear came to Aleksander's eye as he realized that, in his journey to finally dull his own suffering, he had just caused another person, a young and innocent boy nonetheless, to suffer the same fate. Aleksander's heart tore in two… he wished he could help the poor boy, but there was no turning back now; he can not bring back the boy's family and he can not make reprimands for the heinous crime he and his gang just committed.

But, Aleksander didn't think about any of that; there was only one though tthat popped into his head as he walked away, tears coming to his eyes… _What have I done?_


	19. Still in the Dark

**A/N: Hey guys! So sorry it took me so long to upload this chapter, but I've been very busy lately and I'm going to continue to be busy as school starts. Anyway, here's the next installment to the story and it's VERY long but worth it... Oh, and as a result from a review, I have done something to hint (keyword "hint"... I'm not going to outright and tell you... I want to keep that mystery feeling going XD... even thought its pretty easy where she and the Stallions are) at where Cass is and it even dives into Aleksander's past a little further. **

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><p>Colt opened his eyes, but soon closed them because of an intense light just above him. After rubbing his sore eyeballs, Colt slowly opened his eyelids and adjusted to the light level of the room with his bare pupils, his sunglasses missing from his face and sitting in his hat only a few inches behind him.<p>

The room he in wasn't really a room. Technically, it was, more or less, a basement, except for the fact that it wasn't being used to store Christmas decorations or other things. Instead, it was being used as a prison cell for its three occupants and the only survivors of the ambush; Veronica, Boone, and Colt.

Colt slowly lifted himself up in an upright position, with every muscle in his body screaming "Fuck you!" for making them work so hard. As he locked himself into position, he began to rub his aching and sore limbs, soothing the pain and suffering they were enduring just to keep the full grown man sitting up. As soon as he could move his arms, without straining his muscles with every movement, the first thing Colt checked was his right thigh, feeling for his revolver… it wasn't there. He silently cursed under his breath, cursing the bastards who had taken his precious family heirloom. Then, he felt his hand around his Ballistics Vest; the M16 magazines were missing but, thankfully, his lighter was still in the right breast pocket, although it was now only a motivator for his escape because, predictably, his cigarettes were taken away... kinda weird isn't it? I mean, they would take a harmless pack of cigarettes but leave him with a source of fire... anyway...

Cursing the bastards that had taken his pack of stress relievers, Colt finally took a look around the cell he was being held in and got a clear read of the surroundings. The dinky cell was made of some kind of black steel or other metal that gave the entire room an ominous aura and was severely depressing; obviously made that way to break prisoner's spirits and make them cave and form under their captor's whims. The black walls and floors were bare; no furniture whatsoever and the only objects that occupied the room, not including the prisoners, were small little lights in each and every corner. Above this room, being a type of basement, there was, obviously, another room which was separated from the basement by two steel gratings with only a few inches of space in between the two. One grating acted as a floor for the upper room and the other acted as a ceiling for the cell. From what Colt saw through the gratings, the room above looked like a doctor's office or medical clinic that was split into two by a few floor shades.

In the part of the medical clinic that Colt was underneath, there were two operating tables; one against the left wall and the other against the right wall. Each operating table had its own IV stand and medical cabinet. Directly above Colt was an x-ray light, used for examining x-rays, which would explain the bright light that blinded him when he first awoke.

In the other part of the room, against the far wall, was a small table with a computer terminal and another operating table. Right in front of the operating table, in the middle of that part of the room, was a desk and chair illuminated by another x-ray light just behind it. Sitting at the desk was a woman, dressed in red robes, who was writing on a clipboard.

At that moment, Veronica and Boone, who, just as Colt, were still in the uniforms given by the NCR and were without their weapons, began to stir and started groaning as they too sat up.

"Where the fuck are we?" Veronica asked as she began rubbing her head and looking around for the hat she had before. Finally, she found it only a few feet away and placed on top of her head; once again hiding her black hair.

"You should know, Veronica," the woman wearing red robes remarked while still writing on the clipboard.

Veronica looked up at the woman, confused. Then, her expression changed to that of shock, "Schuler? Is that you?"

The woman named Schuler chuckled softly, "Glad you still remember me, Veronica."

"Wait," Colt interjected, rubbing the sore muscles on his arms, "You know her, Veronica?"

"Yeah, unfortunately."

"Aw," Schuler said, false hurt resonating from her voice, "That hurt Veronica. Just because you leave the bunker doesn't mean you should forget your family."

Colt sighed, rubbing his throbbing temples, "What the fuck is she talking about, Veronica? Where the fuck are we and what the fuck is going on?"

The cell door hissed open, attracting the attention of the three prisoners. Three men entered the room; two of them wore gray power armor and the other man wore dark royal blue robes. One of the power armored individuals, a rather large and stalky man who made up for his lack of hair with his seemingly tough exterior, stood by Boone, standing guard over the former First Recon sharpshooter. The other power armored man, who had much darker skin and hair than the other people in room, which gave him a sort of laid back yet serious composure, stood over Veronica, hands on his hips. Just by the way he was standing, Colt could tell that the man was frustrated that he was in here... or that any of them are here. The last man, who seemed like a person of importance because of the royalty-like robes, stood in the middle of the room and continually switched his sights in between the three captives.

Boone's guard turned to Veronica and addressed her with shame in his voice, "Veronica… I'm disappointed in you. I knew you would get yourself into some trouble out there… but treason…"

"I, too, am disappointed, Veronica," the man in the robes turned to her, slowly shaking his head with distaste, "I knew you were rebellious… but a traitor?"

"Don't start getting preachy with me, McNamara," Veronica retorted, looking at the old man in the robes. Then, she turned to Boone's guard, "Don't you start neither, Hardin. I left the bunker, so what I do out there is none of your Goddamn business."

"Wait a minute," Colt said, taking a stake in the conversation and slipping on his hat and sunglasses. He stood up to face his captors, "You guys are the Brotherhood of Steel?"

The man in the blue robe, whom Veronica identified as McNamara, nodded, "Yes, that is correct; we are the Mojave Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel."

Colt finally pieced everything together; energy weapons, power armor, and the fact that he was a captor of the Brotherhood of Steel… they were the one's who ambushed the Ranger patrol and the patrol Colt was with… they betrayed the NCR…

"If you're the Brotherhood of Steel, then that means if anyone here is a traitor," Colt began, inching towards McNamara, "It's you guys. You breached your treaty with the NCR and attacked _two_ NCR patrols, killing over a dozen men and women. That makes you traitors, if anything." Before he even knew it, Colt was only an inch or two from McNamara's face, trying to burn a hole straight through his hypocritical brain. Then, the man named Hardin stepped forward and grabbed Colt's arm.

"No, Hardin," McNamara said, pulling Hardin's arm away from Colt, "Let him spout his drivel and then we'll educate him." Hardin backed off, still staring coldly at Colt as he retook his position looming over Boone. McNamara turned back to Colt, "_We _did not breach that treaty; the NCR breached it first by hiring mercenaries to attack one of our squadrons. The Brotherhood just reacted accordingly."

"What?" Boone scoffed, amused at McNamara's accusation, "The NCR may be land grabbing, greedy bastards, but they are not disloyal or dishonest. They would not break a treaty."

Boone was wrong on that part; the NCR has broken treaties and promises in the past… that little fact is the whole reason Colt and the rest of them are even talking to each other.

"You don't think they would breach a treaty?" McNamara nearly laughed at Boone's comment, "Your patriotism is very amusing… the NCR has broken treaties and promises in the past, they have done it in the present, and its more than likely that they'll do it in the future. Just face it; the NCR is no more honorable than a Deathclaw is friendly."

"Alright," Colt scoffed, already knowing just how dishonorable the NCR can be, "Well, what the fuck do we have to do with any of that?"

"Easy; you're obviously not NCR soldiers, which makes you an outside force they must've hired to do their dirty work. That makes you mercenaries."

"I can already see where you're going with this and I'm going to tell you right now; we did not attack your squad and we are not mercenaries."

"Oh? You're not mercenaries?" McNamara asked, sounding a bit surprised that Colt even said that, "How are you not mercenaries? You're, obviously, not NCR troopers or Rangers and you're obviously doing a contract for them if you were even with that patrol… sounds like you're a mercenary to me."

"I-It's complicated."

"There's nothing complicated about being a mercenary. You do a contract and get paid. You should know that; you've done one contract for them already and killed our brothers, causing this entire complication we now find ourselves."

"Look, we're not mercenaries," Colt continued to press on the matter, practically on the verge of bringing his fist around the side of McNamara's skull… he was starting to get irritated by the man's ignorance of facts and his outrageous accusations, "We were being forced to join that patrol and we're being blackmailed… and what the fuck are you talking about? We haven't done any damn 'contracts' for them and we did not kill your brothers."

"You were being blackmailed?" McNamara asked, bviously ignoring the fact that the three prisoners were innocent, "What an unlikely story. The NCR does not have the time nor the resources to blackmail anyone."

"What?" Colt yelled, on verge of laughing with anger at McNamara's comment, "You believe the NCR has the time to deal with nostalgic organizations, such as the Brotherhood of Steel, hire mercenaries and break treaties, but you don't believe they'll blackmail someone? Just how fucking ignorant of the ways of the world are you? And, another thing, once again, we did _not_ kill your 'brothers'! What possible reason would we have to do something like that?"

"Enough," McNamara retorted, waving off everything Colt just said and believing his words were fact and truth, "I am sick of listening to your lies and deceit. We know it was you who attacked that squad and you had every possible reason to do so; money, weapons, supplies… We know it was you and your friends who pulled that contract a few days ago. We know it was you who killed that squad. We know…"

"You know what? Bullshit? We didn't kill any squad and we didn't pull any 'contract', you crazy bastard!"

McNamara waved everything off once again, "I'm not arguing with you like an adolescent," he said, talking down to Colt, "You're mercenaries and we have proof that you three were contracted by the NCR and murdered our brothers. Now, I have other matters to attend to," he walked to the door and it slid open as the Elder approached it.

"No, we're not fucking done—"

McNamara cut Colt off again, his voice overcoming Colt's and making him become quiet, "Tomorrow, when I come back, I expect you to tell us the details of your mission. If you don't," before leaving, McNamara took a second glance back at the three, "Well, we'll get to the bridge when we cross it…" With that, McNamara finally left, followed closely by the guard named Hardin.

The doors hissed shut and, with a loud clang, locked behind them. The three prisoners were left alone in the cell with the last guard who stood over Veronica, looking down at his shuffling feet and shifting his position continuously in a somewhat thoughtful manner.

"Ramos," Veronica looked up towards the man, "What's going on?"

Ramos just let out a frustrated breath of air, "I'm afraid the Elder has gone a bit overboard with this entire situation…"

"What happened? Why is he holding us here?"

"Well," Ramos began, explaining the situation to the three clueless prisoners… he seemed to be the only one who sympathized with them and knew they didn't belong, "When the Brotherhood signed the treaty with the NCR, we were allowed access to some buildings that would prove useful to our endeavors of finding and preserving Pre-War technology. We claimed facilities such as the REPCONN Headquarters, REPCONN Testing Site, and, to much protest from certain members in the NCR Congress, we even reclaimed HELIOS One.

Well, after only a few months of digging deep into said buildings, we finally found something. Deep within HELIOS One, there was a deactivated military weapons system codenamed 'ARCHEMIEDES II'. It's an orbital laser artillery gun… very powerful and extremely dangerous. So, the Elder ordered to keep it dormant and away from the wrong hands… but that didn't last long. The NCR brass caught wind of the weapon and realized just how useful it could be in their fight against Caesar's Legion, so, they ordered us to hand it over. We refused and were systematically evicted out of the building… peacefully, but evicted nonetheless and that was the first breach of the treaty. Regardless to say, the Elder wasn't too happy and he sent a group of Paladins to Camp McCarran to discuss the terms of the treaty and how the NCR breached it… the squad was wiped out half way in between here and McCarran.

At first, McNamara believed it was the NCR that killed the Paladins, but I convinced him otherwise. The shots that killed the Paladins were too accurate and there were too few shots to be anything the NCR can put out. Usually, NCR troopers and even Rangers would spray and use as many shots as they can to take down enemies… but the shots that killed the Paladins were too precise to be normal spray; they were all headshots that centered around the eyes. Well, now the Elder has it in his head the Paladins were killed by mercenaries hired by the NCR and he believes you three were the mercenaries… convincing him NCR troopers didn't do it probably wasn't the best idea I've ever had and I'm sorry that my mouth is making you guys suffer in here."

"What proof does he actually have that we were the mercenaries?" Colt asked, leaning up against the wall, resting the muscles in his legs.

Ramos shrugged, "The only proof he has is the accuracy you and your First Recon friend have… that's it. But it doesn't matter; he'll just hold you here for consorting with the 'enemy', because you were with that patrol, willingly or not, and for killing two of our soldiers. Proof or no proof of murdering that squad of Paladins, you still aren't leaving any time soon… sorry to say."

"You don't seriously believe we had anything to do with that or that we're mercenaries, do you?" Veronica asked, looking intently at Ramos.

Ramos looked down at her, "No, kiddo, I don't. Look, I think the Elder has stepped out of line with holding your three as prisoners. Personally, I don't think you had anything to do with the Paladins' murder and I don't think you three were a threat; you guys were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"What makes you say that?" Colt asked, chuckling at the statement, very doubtful that Ramos felt that way towards the prisoners, "What makes you so sure we aren't hired mercenaries? What makes you so sure your Elder isn't correct?"

"For one," Ramos began as he turned to the man who doubted his views, "I know Veronica and I know, no matter how frustrated she gets with the Brotherhood, she will never do anything that goes against us. And two," Ramos pointed to Colt, "I've heard of you and I've followed you for a little while and I know you aren't with the NCR… more importantly, I know you're looking for someone and that you don't have any time to waste in here…" Colt felt an uplifting feeling and threw all doubts of Ramos out of his mind; at least there was someone in power armor who understood what he was doing. "Now," Ramos continued, "I'll try and talk some sense into the Elder about this misunderstanding; get this all straightened out. You guys are probably hungry too, so, I'll send someone to bring you some food."

Finally, Ramos left, leaving the three prisoners alone, the door making a hiss as it shut and locked behind him. There was a loud clang as the space in between the two gratings above them was filled in with a single sheet of black steel, leaving the room in complete darkness until the lights in the corners of the room flickered on, dimly lighting the cell. Colt let his back slid down the wall until he came to rest on the floor. He closed his eyes and began rubbing his forefinger and thumb on the top of the bridge of his nose, a headache pounding his head as he tried to think of a way out.

Veronica's voice piped up through the dim light, "What do we do now?"

There was silence until Colt answered through a quivering breath, "I… I don't know…"

He sat there; thinking about what to do next… or rather, what was there to do. He was trapped in the Brotherhood of Steel bunker, in the middle of God only knows where, as the Brotherhood and the NCR are about to go into a full blown war again and, now, he was probably never going to be released because they believe he was collaborating with their so called enemy.

A tear came to Colt's eye as he realized Cass was slipping away. He pulled his knees to his chest and embraced them. His heart ached just to see her again… to feel her touch… to her hear voice… but she was slipping away each and every day. Colt didn't know what to do; there was no way he was leaving here anytime soon, even if Ramos were to convince the Elder. And, even if he were to escape and get back to McCarran, Colt didn't believe the NCR would give him the information because of the death of their Mechanized Division patrol. He was at an impasse and he lost all hope of getting out of here, he lost all hope in the NCR, he lost hope of finding the Stallions… and finding Cass.

The cell door slid open and Colt looked up, eyeing the person coming in. It was a ghoul, dressed in the alien-like recon armor commonly used by Brotherhood Initiates, who stepped in while carrying a silver serving tray with three plates of dark red Brahmin steaks and three glasses of clear water. He looked from one prisoner to another and then started to hand them their meal.

"I've never seen you before," Veronica remarked as she looked closer at the ghoul handing her food and water.

"Oh, uh… I-I'm new here to the Mojave. I was transferred here from California," the ghoul said, answering Veronica's remarked as he went to Boone and handed him his food and water. The one thing that put this ghoul out from the rest was his thick Russian accent that Colt instantly picked up on. Colt looked up to at the ghoul, the tear fading away…

_Russian?_ Colt thought to himself as he examined the ghoul that was handing him the plate and glass. _Could he be…?_

"Oh, really?" Veronica asked the ghoul, her mouth full of steak, "I didn't know they were recruiting outsiders."

"Well," the ghoul laughed, "I was a special occasion because of my… recent employments."

After the ghoul made sure everyone got their meal, he started for the door. But Colt called him out, making him stop, "Hey, ghoul," the ghoul turned around to face the man addressing him, "Are you Russian?"

The ghoul nodded, "Da, I came here just after the Great War."

"That's nice," Colt said, letting his sarcasm shine through his fake smile, knowing he was closer to knowing who the ghoul was and confirming his suspicions, "Now, when you got here, you wouldn't have happened to have run in a gang, now would you?"

"Uh," the ghoul hesitated, just making Colt ever more suspicious, "N-No. I arrived at the Boneyard in 2083 and after that, I moved around a lot. After awhile, I decided to do something with my life, so, I convinced the Brotherhood leadership to allow me to join the Brotherhood. Sorry, but, uh, I have to go; I have to continue my VR training." The ghoul left, the heavy metal door sliding shut behind him.

Veronica looked up from her Brahmin steak, which she was already half way through, and at Colt, "What was all that?"

Colt continued to look at the door where the ghoul was standing just minutes before, "He was with the Stallions."

"How do you know?"

Colt didn't break stare as he answered, "Because, there were four Russian ghouls who lead the Stallions. Two of them split before the founder, Aleksander, went insane. That ghoul was one of the two that left."

"How are you so sure he was one of the ghouls that left?"

"I don't know, but I just feel it," Colt finally broke the stare and turned to Veronica, "And how often is it that you meet a Russian ghoul in America?"

With that, silence once more dominated the room and Colt leaned back further against the wall, looking up at the ceiling and to the sky past all of the metal and earth. He wondered where Cass was and hoped she was having a better time than he was…

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><p><em>Meanwhile… <em>

The light outside the tent illuminated through, giving the entire interior of the tent a bright red glow and lighting up the nylon fabric walls, making the interior walls look like a bright neon sign. The trademark golden scythe and sickle on the roof of the tent shined down on the interior, draping most of the tent in a holographic remake of the insignia. Inside the interior of the tent were two blue sleeping bags; one for the leader of the group and the other for their captive. The leader of the group sat in the tent's entrance, occasionally huffing on a cigarette and allowing the embers to light up his ghoulified face. The captive was lying on one of the sleeping bags, her hands and feet bound tightly together.

Cass wriggled her hands in the ropes, trying to free herself, but the knot was tight and secure and did not allow her to make any movements whatsoever. She needed to get out of here and find Colt… Colt… she missed him and she wished she were back with him… but it didn't seem very possible anymore. She was hoping that he would've found her by now, but that didn't happen; this gang was on the move way to much. First the El Dorado Dry Lake, New Vegas, Bittersprings, and, now, they were in some canyon that kept the group's Geiger counters on their toes. Wherever they were, there were some heavy doses of radiation nearby. It didn't matter where she or these thugs were; what mattered was her getting out of here and that's what she was trying to do, find her own way out.

Cass lifted her head, letting her bright red hair, which was fashioned into a ponytail, cascade down the back of her faded plaid shirt, and looked towards the man who was sitting in the entrance of the tent. He was just sitting there, smoking a cigarette and watching the campfire the others had started.

A man approached him and addressed his leader, "Sir, the group and I are ready to depart… we're just waiting for your order."

The man in the tent's entrance removed the cigarette and looked up at the shadow in front of him, "Good… you six can go. Throw your jackets into the campfire and destroy them; leave no evidence you were ever affiliated with me… now, go, leave and never look back. Live your lives… go…"

The shadow was silent for a minute and then finally spoke to his leader, "Thank you, Aleksander… thank you…" With that, footsteps retreated and then silence.

Aleksander went back to huffing on the cigarette, watching the campfire. Cass took advantage of the silence and continued to think of a way out. Finally, realizing it may be the only way, she slowly lifted her legs, planning to slip Aleksander's head in between her calves and either choke him out or kill him.

"I hope you're not expecting to try anything, Cass," Aleksander said as her legs reached his shoulder height.

Startled, Cass let her legs fall to the ground with a muffled thud and let out a frustrated sigh. She answered him, "No, Aleksander, I wasn't. I was just stretching."

"Stretch? Your hands and feet are bound by rope. Sorry, but you can't stretch."

"Thank you, but I think I know that."

"Well, thought I'd just remind you that you're not going to be set free right now… for everyone's safety."

"Aw, you won't let me go for a nice walk? Or let me have a drink? I'm _not_ that dangerous…"

The man inhaled the tobacco, the embers lighting his face again, "I've lived in California and NCR long enough to have heard about you… the 'Whiskey Rose', am I right? You make it a habit to beat people senseless and I can't run the risk of you beating me or my men…" Then, under his breath, so low that Cass could barely make it out, he added, "At least not yet, not while I still can do some good…"

"Look, you know I won't have to be set free and I won't have to free myself, right? He's coming… you know that, don't you?" Cass asked, referring to Colt who she knew was looking for her and the Stallions… at least she hoped he was and she wasn't just making idle threats.

Aleksander paused for a moment as he sat there, legs folded up slightly and his arms resting on his knees, occasionally huffing on the cigarette. Finally, he spoke, "Da, I know he's coming… I know… I… I didn't want any of this happen…"

Cass looked at him, puzzled at the hint of remorse Aleksander gave in his tone of voice. That wasn't the fearsome Aleksander Lebedev that was astronomically infamous in the NCR. That Aleksander didn't show any mercy or remorse… what's changed? Cass lifted her legs into the air and slammed them onto the ground, propelling her upper body upwards, propping herself into a sitting position.

"What do you mean?" Cass inquired, tilting her head a little.

"I… I never wanted _any_ of this to happen…" Aleksander answered in between deep breaths. Was he… sobbing? "I… I just wanted to finally be free of the Old World… to end this suffering that has plagued my life…"

"You wanted to end your own suffering by causing others misery? How the hell does that work?"

"It doesn't work," Aleksander said firmly, "When I ordered the destruction of that ranch, I was… blinded… by my hatred for the Old World. I thought I was doing the right thing…. but, I was wrong and I just caused another person the same suffering I have endured for a long… long time."

"You have suffered?" Cass asked, not feeling any sympathy for the man who has murdered dozens of innocent people, "I don't think you know what you put Colt through. I don't think you know his pain."

"I… I know what he's going through… I know what it is like to have your family taken away…" Aleksander answered slowly, not looking up from the ground and holding back weeping sobs, keeping his voice in a stable and serious manner,"I married my beautiful wife, Dashia, in 2048 and we lived happily together for five years before out lives drastically changed…

In 2052, the Resource Wars began and, as a result, I was drafted into the U.S.S.R military in 2053. Many of you Post-War people don't know it, but the Resource Wars was a world wide conflict, centered mainly in Europe in the Middle East, for the last remaining scrapes of resources known to man. It was a pointless war and, when I joined, I knew no good would come of it... wouldn't you know it, I was right… the Resource Wars tore apart the Middle East, Europe… the world. I was on the frontlines during the war and saw just how horrible it was… this was war between Caesar's Legion and the NCR was nothing like the Resource Wars. I stayed on the frontlines, watching my comrades die before me, for two straight years until I was finally allowed to go back home to Vladivostok on leave. My wife was waiting for me… she was the only thing that helped me out on the frontlines… knowing I was protecting her…

After a few years of constantly going from civilian life to war, the Resource Wars finally ended in 2060 when the last oil field in the Middle East dried up. I was sent home and spent a few more years with my beautiful Dashia," Aleksander dug into an inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a photograph, continuing his story as he looked at it, "In 2063, she gave birth to my daughter Khristina and then a year later she gave birth to my son Dimitri. We were one big happy family… at least until I, once again, was called into to service to defend my 'Mother Russia' and my 'Communist Brethren'. In 2066, the Chinese invaded Alaska, causing a full blown conflict between America and China. Soviet forces, mainly Spetsnaz, were sent to the Alaskan Frontline to assist in any way possible. Unfortunately, I was a Spetsnaz operator and I was separated from family again for years… and years… Dimitri and Khristina grew up so fast… and it made going to war worth it… I was protecting _them_ and nothing more. Finally, I was able to be with them because, in 2077, the Chinese were completely pushed out of Alaska by the Americans and every Russian and Chinese soldier was sent home permanently… just in time to… the bombs dropped later that year and the world was engulfed in radiation and fire…" Aleksander faded as he looked up from the photograph and watched the fire outside, seemingly entranced by the flames.

"That's it?"

Aleksander scoffed, "That's only the beginning. Whenever I was on leave in the military, I began to slowly convert my home's basement into a bunker… I knew the War was coming… it was only a matter of time. Thankfully, I completed the bunker in time and, when the bombs fell, I rushed Dashia, Khristina, and Dimitri inside. We held out there for the two hour long bombardment; all of us crying subtly for our lives while bomb after bomb landed and shook the earth... screams of terror and pain from the people outside caught in the hellfire seeped into the bunker… it was horrible… finally, it ended... but the radiation outside was too strong and we could not leave. We stayed down there for three years, rationing the food supplies we had and waiting for the radiation to die down.

On the fourth year, there was a leak in the bunker… we became exposed to slowly increasing radiation levels. My son and daughter…" Aleksander paused, looking down and holding back tears, "Their small and frail bodies could not withstand the amount of radiation that slipped into the confined space… they died a month later and then my wife," Aleksander paused, burring his eyes into his hand, his cigarette lighting up the palm of his hand and the tears streaming down his face, "She died with them… I was the only one left alive and, as a sick, twisted and cruel joke, I started to become a ghoul and lived through it all. I emerged from the bunker the next year and found my friends, Vladimir, Nikolai, and Mikhail, and we came here on a nuclear submarine.

Well, the rest you should already know, being an NCR citizen and all…"

"Yeah, I know about you and what you've done… and it doesn't matter what's happened in the past; it does not justify what you have done. Causing pain to innocent people, people who had nothing to do with you in the first place, will not end your own suffering."

"Da… I know… I just wanted to keep the New World from being like that of the old and I wanted this world to have a new start… I guess it was just a fantasy; you can't just erase centuries of civilization and start fresh… the only thing I've managed to do is cause more people to suffer. That's why I'm leaving; so that I don't cause any more pain and hurt…"

"Leave? To where?" Cass asked, wondering how he was just going to vanish, "There's not a place you can go in the Mojave where people that want you won't find you."

Aleksander looked up at the sky, "You're right… there's not one place in the Mojave… that's why I'm leaving to some where far, far away… some where no one knows who I am… some where I can start anew… some where I can live peacefully for the rest of my life and actually do some good before I fade into history…"

"What if the NCR comes looking for you? Or Colt?"

Aleksander, for the first time, turned to Cass. His look was hard, but not one if anger or fury. With understanding and acceptance in his voice, he said, "It's not if they come… it's _when_ they come and when they come… I will accept what's coming to me and I will not struggle," Aleksander turned back to the outside world, "But, I will try to do some good before that time comes… and, don't worry, when I leave the Mojave, I will not take you with me… I will leave you her and Colt will, soon enough, find you… it's the one bit of good I can actually do here. Now, enough talk..." With that, Aleksander didn't say another word as he continued to look outside the tent's entrance.

Cass laid back down on the sleeping bag and let out a breath of air. She wondered where Colt was and if he was alright… she missed him and didn't know why. She's never felt like this towards another person… there was just something about him and her that connected and it all felt natural. Whatever it was, she liked it… and, hopefully, he was close to finding her so they could be together again... she just hoped that the maniac in the tent's entrance would keep his word and release her when he leaves…

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**** Okay, that's it. Like I said, it was long. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and, please, tell me what you think! **


	20. I Could Make You Talk

Colt felt there was hope again. This ghoul would probably be his only way of finding Cass. The information he kept locked away inside his cranium will be Colt and Cass' salvation… but, the only problem was getting the information out of him; he seemed reluctant to remember his past and admit that he more than likely ran in the Stallions and that he knew where they were… Colt knew he knew where they were. So, he would have to force the information out of the tight lipped ghoul… one way or another…

The next day, or Colt thought it was the next day, as he was sitting on the cold steel floor rubbing his hands together, trying to warm them, the ghoul reentered the cell. In his hands was the silver serving tray bearing a paltry gift of three dishes of scrambled Mantis eggs, which wasn't the best breakfast, believe it or not, and three dirty glasses of milk. The ghoul strode to Veronica, leaving the vicinity of the door's sensors and allowed the heavy steel door to hiss shut and, with a loud clang, lock. At the door's locking, Colt stood and began to stretch, limbering up for what he was to do.

The ghoul glanced at Colt as he stood, but shrugged it off and continued to hand out the breakfast. Veronica took her dish, thanked him, and began to force herself to down the mediocre food. The ghoul was lulled into a false sense of security as he went on to the next person, handing Boone his plate and glass, just as he normally would've done. Then, the ghoul approached Colt, who was still standing and watching the ghoul.

The ghoul stopped in front of the man, the top of his head barely overmatching Colt's, and handed the man the white glass dish and dirty glass he was to use to drink with. Colt looked at gritty glass, dirt encrusting the outside surface and the edge where he was supposed to put his mouth. His face cringed at the glass and he set it off to the side, keeping it out of the way so as not to spill it and cause a bigger problem. Then, just as the ghoul was just a foot away, Colt tilted the plate forwards, allowing the eggs to slide off the edge of the dish and fall to the ground, landing with a sick, wet and very pronounced plop. The ghoul stopped in mid-stride and turned around, looking down at the eggs and then to Colt.

"Whoops," Colt said, shrugging innocently and letting a fake smile spread his face.

The ghoul began to chuckle at Colt's apparent clumsiness and Colt laughed as well, sending the ghoul into a deeper false sense of security. But he was quickly pulled out of the wonderful little world as Colt quickly walked towards him, not laughing anymore and the smile completely gone, and raised the heavy glass plate above his head. The ghoul's smile faded as he tried to raise his hands to protect himself, but it was too late; Colt brought the plate down and smashed it across his forehead, shattering the plate into thousands of pieces and slicing open the flesh of the impact area, creating a bright red cut the ran the length of the ghoul's forehead and allowed blood to seep out of his veins and capillaries and drip down his face in a light crimson waterfall.

The ghoul dropped the serving tray, letting it fall to the ground and land with a loud clatter on the steel floor, and, holding his cut and bruised head, staggered backwards. He held up a hand to stop Colt from hurting him even more, but Colt just pushed aside the arm, extinguishing the injured ghoul's only defense, and strode forward, landing a blow with his tightened, enclosed fist against his target's right cheek.

The ghoul, his jawbone rocked and his head now wobbling about like a bobble head, staggered backwards even more, causing Veronica to jump out of the way as he slammed his back into the wall she was just leaning against. Colt followed him, gearing his fists for more of the brutal assault. The ghoul, seeing Colt coming through the crimson mask on his face, held up his hands to defend his face. Unfortunately, in his futile attempt to defend himself, the ghoul left his torso wide open, allowing Colt to target it in the violent attack. Colt landed blow after blow with his enclosed fists into the ghoul's stomach, causing him to jump and grunt with every buckling strike. After the tenth or so rocking blow to the stomach, the injured ghoul slid down to the ground and laid on the floor, curling up into the fetal position and clutching his bruised stomach. Colt looked at the man on the floor for a moment, breathing heavily from the labored and measured strikes to the ghoul. He lifted his right fist, the one he used to deal the first punch, with a small splatter of the ghoul's blood that streaked across his knuckles. Shaking the blood off his hand, Colt knelt down next to the injured ghoul, pushing him over on his back and grasping hold of the collar of his armor. Using the collar of the armor, Colt held up the ghoul's head, landing two more blows to his cheek before he finally spoke out, stopping Colt's rage filled punches.

"Stop!" The ghoul yelled, coughing from the blood caught in his throat and mouth. "Please! Just stop!"

"Why should I?" Colt asked, his rage causing him to yell and his voice to quiver, "Why should I fucking stop, huh? Did Aleksander stop before he murdered my family?" Using the collar of the armor to his advantage, Colt jerked the ghoul's head forward and then slammed the back of his skull into the steel floor with a sickening thud.

"No!" Nikolai answered, letting his head hang to the right from the pain coursing through his nerves, "No, he didn't… but that doesn't mean you should beat me… I'm not Aleksander…"

Colt lowered the fist that was raised and ready for another strike, "You're right; you're not Aleksander… but you're next best thing." With that, Colt slammed his right knee into the ghoul's torso, causing him to grunt and let out a painful breath. Colt raised his fist again, ready to land another ferocious blow to the ghoul's face, but was stopped by another question…

"Wait!" The ghoul gasped, holding up a hand to protect himself, "Wait! Just wait…" the ghoul took a moment, catching his breath, and then looked towards Colt, the cut on his forehead leaking blood and his right cheek severely bruised, and asked, "What is it that you want from me? Besides beating me…"

"I want information," Colt answered, jerking the ghoul's head once more, "I know you were with the Stallions…"

The ghoul let out a staggering breath, "Y-Yes… I was with the Stallions… I was one of the founders… _was_… I left when things started to get out of control and when Aleksander started that ridiculous war with the NCR. I knew no good was going come of it; he was going to destroy the entire gang… I wasn't going to risk my life again, not for another ridiculous cause… so I left. I left that gang behind and I wandered… until I found the Brotherhood and they allowed me to join because of my military experience and knowledge of pre-War tech…I just wanted to join a group with a nobler cause…"

"Great," Colt said, letting go of the collar to the ghoul's armor and allowing his head to drop to the floor, "Now that I know you were with the gang, tell me where Aleksander and the Stallions are now… I know you know…"

"Sorry," the ghoul said in a low voice, "No… I don't know where they are. Like I said; I left them behind…" he was quiet for a minute, thinking and then said the greatest piece of information Colt had heard in a long time, "But, I do keep in contact with a friend who was one of the other leaders. He left soon after me… his name's Mikhail Voroshilov. A few months after he left, we met while I was out doing a training scenario. We had a few drinks, talked awhile, and decided to keep in contact. We talk at least once a week via ham radio."

"And how does this help me find Aleksander or the Stallions?'

"Because, Mikhail keeps telling me he constantly gets visits from one of the remaining leaders of the gang; Vladimir Ryndenko. Vladimir keeps trying to recruit him back, but doesn't understand the meaning of now."

Colt stood up and loomed over the ghoul, who was still curled up into the fetal position and began coughing heavily. Finding Mikhail and Vladimir may be his only way of getting to the Stallions… to Aleksander… to Cass... some how, some way, Colt had to find those two men.

The ghoul on the floor looked up at Colt again, the pain in his stomach shaking his voice, "Why are you looking for Aleksander and the Stallions?"

"Because," Colt answered, looking down upon the ghoul and shaking the blood off his fist, "Aleksander and the rest of them killed my family."

There was a loud hiss, turning Colt's blood ice cold and making the atmosphere in the room heavier than anything he had ever felt before. Colt quickly turned to see who was entering the room; it was Elder McNamara, Hardin, and Ramos. The three stopped, noticing Colt standing over their injured comrade, who had a long cut streaking across his forehead and a blackened bruise on his right cheek, and with bright crimson still on the knuckles of his right fist. The Elder's mouth dropped at the sight and Hardin and Ramos just strode over, Hardin grabbing Colt by his arm and jerking him away while Ramos helping the ghoul to his feet.

McNamara regained his composure, "Well," he began in a surprisingly calm voice, "I did not expect to see this. Are you okay, Initiate Butkovsky? I hope this maniac did not hurt you."

"Da, I am okay," the ghoul said, using the wall and Ramos to help stand himself up, "He did not hurt me. I am a tough old ghoul and have experienced much, much worse."

"Well, I can assure you, his actions will not go… unpunished," McNamara turned to Colt, glaring at him, and then turned to Hardin, "Take him to the interrogation chamber. We'll get some answers out of him and make him suffer for his ill deeds."

"Yes, sir," Hardin said with a sort of delighted tone as he pulled a metal staff out of the side of his belt. He stopped as Ramos began to protest once more…

"But, sir," Ramos began, "You can not do that; he's not NCR and he's not a hired mercenary. You can't interrogate an innocent person; he was being forced—" He was cut short by McNamara who waved a hand over the entire thing… Colt was really getting sick of that Goddamned hand…

"Enough, Ramos," McNamara said in an elevated voice, his tiredness of Ramos' constant protests obviously irritating him, "This man is a worthless degenerate who has killed many of our brothers and just savagely beat another. He will not go unpunished," he turned to Hardin, "Hardin, take this pathetic man to the interrogation chamber."

Colt couldn't take it anymore; McNamara's blind accusations and lies finally frustrated him for the last time… he pulled his arm free from Hardin's grasp and swung a tightly enclosed fist towards McNamara's skull, landing a hard blow to the man's cheek. The Elder stumbled backwards, holding his hands to his cheek and cursing loudly. Colt only managed to release a small smile at his deed before he felt an intense shock generating from his back and then began to course through his body.

The shock of electricity made his muscles painfully cramp up and it caused him to lose all motor control function, making him collapse to the ground with a loud thud, his muscles in a painful bind. He looked up through the blinding pain he was enduring; a blurred version of McNamara staggered out of the room, mouthing incomprehensible words as he proceeded to leave. He was soon followed by Ramos who was helping the injured ghoul stagger through the door. Betkovsky, however, slowly exited the room, watching Colt as he finally left. After that, everything began to give way to blackness and Colt passed out once more…

* * *

><p>Colt let his head fall to the right, his frontal lobes throbbing with pain and agony from the electricity that jolted his body just minutes before. He slowly lifted his eyelids, letting in small amounts of lights so as to adjust to the room for his sunglasses, once again, were missing from his face. Through the blur, he noticed that his feet were tied to the legs of an old wooden chair and that he was soaked in the only pool of light in the room. Colt tried to move his arms, but they were bound together and then to the back of the wooden chair, preventing any movements he could possibly make. Lifting his head, causing agony in his aching spinal cord, he was greeted by a blurry version of Hardin, who, within a few seconds, came into focus as Colt's eyes adjusted to the light level of the room.<p>

"So," Hardin said, crossing his arms, "You're finally awake."

"You know," Colt began, flexing his shoulders and his neck, loosening the muscles in both appendages, "You guys _really_ need to stop that electricity shit; it's starting to piss me off."

"You're in no position to be throwing around threats," Hardin said bluntly, not intimidated by Colt's comment.

Colt just laughed, "What makes you say that?"

"For one; you're tied to that chair."

"That doesn't mean I can't kick your ass later."

With that comment, Colt received a strong back hand across the face that he returned with just a laugh. Hardin didn't take the laugh all too well and had to make his 'superiority' known, "I am a Brotherhood Paladin. An NCR lieutenant doesn't even match up to my abilities."

"Hey," Colt laughed again, "Whatever helps you sleep at night. But, to me, you'll always be that creepy half-bald guy who had a surprisingly strong right hand." Colt, once again, received a blow across the face, the sharp serrated edge of the gauntlet on his interrogator's wrist creating a deep and long cut that streaked down from Colt's left eye and down to the middle of his left cheek. Colt let out a sharp yelp and then a pain filled laugh as air rushed into the open and bleeding wound.

Colt laughed painfully as he looked up at Hardin, a twisted smile on his face, "That all you got? All those miserable nights alone, working your hand and arm and that's it? You weak bastard…" Another, much harder strike rocked Colt's skull, sending a small stream of blood flying from his mouth to the floor, creating a crimson string that streaked across the cement.

"Enough of your jokes!" Hardin yelled at Colt, his eyes filled with fury and his voice quivering with anger.

"Hardin," a stern voice from the darkness said, "Calm down." Elder McNamara stepped out from the darkness, hands behind his back and a large bruise that covered his entire right cheek that shined in the little light in the room. It made Colt smile and nearly laugh.

"Yes, sir," Hardin grunted through gritted teeth, taking a step back from Colt.

"That's a good boy," Colt said, smiling, "Listen to your master," he turned to McNamara, "You really need to keep that Chihuahua of yours on a leash; he's starting to get a little too high for his heels. It's going to be a real bummer when he finds out there a much tougher people out there other than himself."

"Like yourself?" McNamara asked, smiling the fakest smile Colt had ever seen in his life.

Colt's own smile widened, "Look who's not such an ignorant bastard after all. Good for you, McNamara. Finally passing grade school, are we?"

McNamara's smile faded as he took the joke with much distaste, "I… sort of admire your wise cracks. You continue to make tasteless jokes even though you're tied to a chair and are about to be ruthlessly beaten."

"It's a defense mechanism," Colt explained, "The docs said I've had it all my life; if I can't physically kick your ass, then I'll verbally kick your ass... say, how's that bruise on your cheek?"

McNamara's emotionless face turned to that of a scowl as Colt mentioned the bruise he caused the arrogant Elder. "I don't know," McNamara said coldly, "How does it look to you?"

"Well," Colt began, taking another look at the bruise, "In my unprofessional medical opinion… it looks like you got knocked the fuck out."

"Funny… so, let's get to business, shall we?" McNamara approached Colt, looking down at him, "What was that you said yesterday? You said were being blackmailed by the NCR?"

The smile faded from Colt's face, "Yeah; that's exactly what I said."

McNamara nodded, "Well, my next question would have to be why you accepted to do the mission in the first place. Of course, you could have ousted the NCR to the media and put them in a bad light for blackmailing you, an 'innocent' citizen. Why did you accept to help the NCR knowing full well you could have completely destroyed them for even thinking of blackmailing you?"

"I fail to see to see how it's any of your business why I accepted to do join that patrol…"

"You seem to forget who's the one tied up in a chair here."

Colt scoffed with a small smile, "I guess you're right… I accepted to join that patrol because the NCR promised me information on a group of people I'm looking for…" Colt let his head fall, remembering the Stallions, Aleksander… Cass…

"You're looking for a group of people? Ramos mentioned something about that…"

"Yeah… I've been following them for years… all the way from Shady Sands and to here, the Mojave, where I met a wonderful young lady who, for some odd reason or another, joined me on this little search… one day, we stopped at the little town of Novac, just for the night. Well, regardless to say, that group of people found us there, shot me in the leg, and kidnapped her in the middle of the night.

After that, I've been searching for clues to their whereabouts and followed a trail… I was interrupted on that trail by a couple of NCR officers who tell me that, if I don't disguise myself as a Ranger and join one of their patrols, me and my friends will be thrown in jail for crimes we didn't commit. Left with little option, I had to join that patrol and, now, I'm here with you fine people, enjoying the wonderful Brotherhood of Steel hospitality you guys are so famous for."

McNamara took a step back, "Huh, interesting… and what will happen if I let you go? Will you tell these 'NCR officers' what happened here?"

"To get the information the NCR has, I have to provide them with a culprit for who ambushed the Rangers… and with what you bastards are doing to me right now…"Colt looked up at McNamara, "I probably will be telling them about this."

"Well," McNamara began as he turned and walked into the darkness, "I guess you're not leaving this place then." Colt's heart sank… the hope of the Brotherhood letting him go faded and faded fast…

There was a hiss as a door beyond the darkness opened and few footsteps as some one entered. Then there was an urgent voice that addressed the Elder, "Elder McNamara, sir—"

"What is it? Can't you see I'm discussing important matters with the Brotherhood's friend?"

"It's High Elder Maxson, sir; he wants to speak to you."

"About what?" McNamara's voice changed from frustration to hesitation in an instant… something must've gone wrong…

"He wishes to speak about the situation with the NCR… he also has Elder Lyons and Elders from that splinter faction on the line as well. High Elder Maxson says it's very important and that it will decide the eternal fate of the Brotherhood."

McNamara sighed, "Fine. Hardin, try and get more information out of the prisoner… use any means necessary.

The door hissed once more and the sound of the Elder and the runner's retreating footsteps echoed out. Finally, the door hissed shut and locked.

Hardin stepped forward and into the light, a devilish grin on his face as he cracked his knuckles. "Alright, we finally have some alone time."

Colt chuckled, "Well then… where's the wine? Let's have a party."

A blow struck landed across Colt's face, creating a fresh cut that streaked upwards from the corner of his mouth and to the middle of his cheek, intersecting the cut that streaked down from his eye. Blood began to slowly seep out of that cut as well, blood slowly cascading down.

Hardin looked down towards Colt, the smile gone and replaced with a livid face. "Tell me what I want to know!"

Colt lifted his head, a smile upon his face and tear streaking down from his eye, not from the physical or psychological pain, but the emotional pain of knowing that he was now trapped in this bunker with no way out… he was never going to see Cass again… Well, if he were stuck here, he was going to cause the Brotherhood and its members some pain while he was here and he was going to mess wit his captors as much as possible… including Hardin.

"Alright, alright…" Colt gasped while stifling a laugh, "I'll tell you… your mother; she likes it up the ass."

Hardin struck Colt once more, hitting him directly in the eye, causing a bruise to form and around his right eye. He yelled again, bending down to get eye-level with his prisoner, "Stop with your jokes!"

"Well, what the fuck do you want me to say?"

"Tell me what you were doing to Initiate Betkovsky!"

"Well," Colt began, heaving a sigh and chuckling, "Sorry to say… it wasn't want you were thinking, big guy; I don't flow that way." Colt's smart remark was only rewarded with another blow that struck across the left side of his face, loosening a tooth on his lower jaw.

"Stop with your asinine jokes and tell me why Betkovsky was on the floor, severely injured, and why you were standing over him with a bloody fist! Were you beating him?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

Hardin raised his fist to strike Colt once more, but another voice from the darkness stopped him, "Please, sir, stop this." Betkovsky stepped forward and into the light, a clear cut across his forehead and a bruise on his cheek.

Hardin turned from Colt to Betkovsky, "Initiate, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to stop you from hurting this innocent man further," Nikolai said, stepping forward even more. He looked at Colt, understanding in his eyes as he stared at the man tied to a chair.

"No," Hardin retorted, disgusted that Betkovsky would even say something like that, "This scum doesn't deserve remorse, Betkovsky." Hardin raised his hand to strike Colt again, but the Initiate grabbed his superior's hand, keeping him from ever landing a blow.

"Don't do it, sir. He only assaulted me so he could find someone," Nikolai protested, defending Colt, "I wouldn't give him the information he needed when he first asked and he just did what he had to do to find a group that's done him wrong. Anyone would've done the same."

Hardin jerked his hand free from Betkovsky's grip and glared at the Initiate, furrowing his brow, giving himself an ominous appearance, "Brutally assaulting someone is no way to gain information and—"

"But, sir, you're basically doing that right now! You're violently interrogating him to gain information that he doesn't have!"

Hardin turned to Betkovsky, his anger swelling and rattling his voice as he yelled at the ghoul, "What that man did was an assault and a beat down! What I'm doing is an interrogation! They are two completely different things!"

"No they are not! I should know; I've performed both many times in my life! This proves just how hypocritical the Brotherhood is! They will go out of their way to condemn those who brutally assault their own people and then they turn around and do it themselves! "

"There is no excuse for him to assault you the way he did, regardless of what others would do or what that group has done to him or whether assaults and interrogations are the same! What he did will not go unpunished! Now, Initiate, leave and do not question me or this Brotherhood again!"

Betkovsky stared coldly at Hardin, not giving an inch, and then he turned to Colt, nodded to him, and vanished back into the darkness. The door hissed as it opened and then closed, locking shut with a loud clang.

Why would Betkovsky stick his neck out for Colt like that after he was beaten severely by the prisoner? It puzzled and bewildered him. Did Betkovsky sympathize with Colt and want to help him? Why would he do that anyway, knowing Colt wanted to kill his old friend? So many questions and Colt had none of the answers…

The same could be said for the rest of the interrogation; so many question and Colt had none of the answers. Hardin asked questions like "What are the NCR troop movements?", "Where is most of the NCR high command?", "How many troops are stationed at HELIOS One?", and "What type of air defenses does the NCR have set up around the Mojave?". Generic questions an NCR colonel or general would be able to answer… not a man who's being blackmailed by the NCR into joining a squad. Seeing as how Colt did not know any of the true answers, he made up his own smart remarks that only pissed Hardin off more than before.

In fact, the interrogation went rather well… as normal as any other interrogation. Hardin would ask a question and Colt make a smart ass remark that would be rewarded with a blow to the skull or torso. Just like any other interrogation…

After another hour or so, Hardin, finally, grew sick of Colt and electrocuted him with the prod… again… when he passed out, Hardin carried Colt back to the cell he was to call home and laid him on the ground, passed out and resting from the physical pain he had endured for a good few hours. There Colt sat, unconscious, but his mind still tried to figure out some way to leave this hellish bunker…


	21. If You're Going Through Hell

Colt, back against the cold steel wall and his knees folded up, buried his face in his hand. He had just woken up from his unconscious slumber and his entire body ached with pain because of the abuse he suffered at the hands of Hardin and that damn electrical prod he used to knock Colt out. The pain shooting through his skull and face was so unbearable that he had to keep his sunglasses and hat off of his head just to soothe the agony his skull was enduring. Even then, the pain was still extreme; the fresh bruise on his eye sent a jolt of pain at the slightest touch, the two cuts on his left cheek, one that streaked down from his right eye to the middle of his cheek and the other cut that streaked up from the corner of his mouth, and the other cut that stretched from the bottom of his right cheek and streaked across his face, crossing over his right eye and his nose and ending in the middle of his forehead, was always searing hot with pain because of the cold air that flushed in with the slightest breeze and, the final injury, the his lower jaw constantly ached because of the loss of a tooth. His clothes weren't any better; the sleeves of his faded blue button-up shirt were stained with blood he wiped away from the cuts and the rest of it was stained with dried sweat. The sadistic interrogation left him scarred and further deteriorated his personal hygiene. The Brotherhood didn't even bother to treat his wounds or even allow him to clean up, making him keep the painful reminders of the interrogation.

Even though he suffered from physical pain and the lack of personal hygiene, the worst part of his detainment was the emotional trauma he was suffering; knowing that he would probably never leave this place and he would probably never see Cass again… it practically broke him… McNamara's words just kept echoing in his mind, _I guess you're not leaving this place then_… he couldn't help but doubt his escape… his heart ached to see Cass, but it seemed he would never see her again…

The door hissed open and, once again, the ghoul, whom Colt finally identified as Nikolai Betkovsky, one of the main founders of the Stallions, stepped in with a serving tray. The ghoul tried to look at Colt, but Colt kept his head down, avoiding anyone's line of sight. Nikolai, just as Colt, had a few scrapes and bruises; one or two bruises on his cheek, where Colt had repeatedly struck with his fist, and a few cuts, including one large one across his forehead, which littered his face. As the battered ghoul continued to look around at the prisoners, two power armored individuals entered, obviously ordered to protect Nikolai as he issued the prisoner their mediocre food. The guards took up positions on the door's flank and Betkovsky began handing out the meal, going along his normal path. He quickly gave Veronica and Boone their platters and then came to Colt where he just froze, staring at the man on the floor.

Nikolai bent down, setting the food down next to Colt, "He really beat you, didn't he?"

"Yeah," Colt answered bluntly, not looking up for a single moment.

"You're looking for Aleksander?"

"Hey! You're not here to have a conversation with them!" One of the guards yelled at Nikolai, obviously agitated that he was keeping them from going about their daily duties.

Nikolai turned to the guard, "Vy zdes ne sporit so mnoĭ! S prosto stoyat i zakryl yebesh vverh!" The guard didn't say anything and just looked at Nikolai. Even though his face was covered with a helmet, Colt could tell he was confused and didn't understand a fucking word Nikolai just said. Nikolai chuckled at the guard, "Exactly; just stand there and shut up," He turned back to Colt, "Now, you're looking for Aleksander, right?"

Colt, finally, looked up at Nikolai, his eyes cold and hard, "Yes."

"You know," Nikolai continued, setting aside the serving tray and taking a seat on Colt's right, folding up his legs and resting his elbows on his knees, "I've known Aleksander for a long, _long_ time. We were in the same unit together when we served in the Red Army; me, Aleksander, Vladimir, and Mikhail, all in the same squad while in the Spetsnaz. Aleksander was the squad leader, and a damn good one at that, Mikhail was our explosives and hand-to-hand specialist and he was the squad's designated sharpshooter, Vladimir was an expert in psychological warfare and tactics, and I was the expert in negotiations and any and all technology we found.

Besides what our expertise was or what our specialties were, we fought for one thing and one thing only… our families and friends… Aleksander especially… Every time we went to war, when everyone would moan and complain, Aleksander would always go with a smile on his face and his family photo in his pocket. He knew he wasn't in the military for his country and its interests. No, he was it for his family and everyone else's family. Hell, we were all in the military to protect our families and fellow citizens. Even our 'enemies' were in it for their families and Aleksander always showed them much respect for that, closing their eyes and apologizing whenever he killed one. He was a wonderful man, friend, enemy, human being…"

"What happened to him? What caused him to hate the NCR and anyone associated with it? What caused him to murder my family?" Colt asked, turning to Nikolai. A tear cascaded down the old ghoul's face.

"The Great War," Nikolai answered, wiping the tear away, "Aleksander knew the War was coming; he continually watched the political tensions and conflicts of the world, watching them escalate into full blown wars and the like. Aleksander warned us that something big was coming and he warned us to fortify our basements into a bunker or buy a ticket into one of the Vaults, but we didn't listen… the bombs dropped in 2077 and Aleksander rushed his family into their bunker. Thankfully, I didn't have any family… my mother and father died years before and I never married… but Aleksander had his family to protect and worry about and that's what he did.

They hid in that bunker for years, surviving off of food and water rations stored in the basement… until, one day, a leak sprung in the bunker and radiation flushed the entire room. His wife, son and daughter were all killed by the radiation, but he was turned into a ghoul and survived. He blamed the old countries for his family's death and the suffering they caused him… he had every right to; it was their fault, their resource grabbing ways that brought upon this Hell we now live in… Aleksander just hated them for it…

Soon after his family died, Aleksander left the bunker and found me, Vladimir, and Mikhail holed up in a fortified bar in Vladivostok. There, we formed a plan to get out there and to somewhere Aleksander thought was safer; America. Aleksander always respected every aspect of the United States of America, except for the government, of course, and he thought… he _knew_ it would be safer there than in Russia and he was right. It was horrible in Russia… a freezing winter covered the entire country and the surface was plagued with horrible mutated monsters. Not the Radscorpions or Deathclaws you Americans have… these monsters were much, much worse. Thankfully, we found an old Soviet submarine pen, in Vladivostok's ports, with an old Soviet nuclear submarine. We clambered in and, through trial and error, managed to get it out and underway to America.

We arrived years later and built a new life in the newly instituted Boneyard. During the decades we stayed there, Aleksander noticed just how unforgiving and deadly the wastes were. So, to protect the people from the hell brought on by the old countries, we formed the Stallions to help make life worth living. Aleksander has been suffering all of his life and it seemed that helping people was his way to end the suffering. He was always happy to help those in need, no matter the cost. Finally, after a few more decades of gaining a reputation that preceded us, we received a visit from President Tandi of the New California Republic. She came to ask us for help in the NCR's war with the Enclave and, against my better judgment, Aleksander agreed… but on the condition that Tandi promises that NCR will never give up its values and never revert back to the ways of the resource harboring and possessive old countries. Aleksander was hell bent on keeping the Old World out of the new… and never having to suffer what he went through again or letting others suffer the same fate.

Years later, Tandi died and so did her promise to Aleksander. After Tandi's death, we began to see a change in the NCR… and our leader. That," Nikolai held back tears, "That's when it went downhill. Aleksander, he was so desperate to end his suffering and to keep the Old World at bay that he decided to declare a state of war with the NCR… to keep them from becoming like the old countries and making this world into that of the old. That's when I left... I heard it just kept getting worse for Aleksander and the gang after that.

I eventually found out that Aleksander slowly went insane and decided that, if he couldn't help the people change their possessive ways and embrace their values… then he would make them and show them they're wrong. I don't know what made him think that… violence is never the answer to anything and it only makes things worse… I'm truly sorry he murdered your family, but he has been suffering for so long… he was just trying to end his torment and keep others from suffering the way he did…"

"So," Colt began, a tear coming to his eye, "He wanted to keep people from suffering by killing them? Well, he didn't keep me from suffering… he caused me nine years of it and he continues to make me suffer by keeping someone I care deeply about away from me… he's caused me so much physical and emotional pain…"

"I'm sure he is not without grief for doing so… he may be an out of control idealist, but he isn't heartless and I'm sure he's still in agony over it all."

"Well, the only way I see to end both of our suffering, and the suffering of hundreds of other people, is for him to die… but," Colt's voice turned to hopelessness as he remembered the strong possibility of never leaving and all of the torment that he's endured on this journey, "I'm beginning to think that this suffering will never end… the farther I go along this road, the more the torment keeps piling up… I'm just about broken…"

Nikolai nodded, understanding everything Colt was saying, "You're right; killing Aleksander may be the only way. I just wish I could help… but all I can really offer is advice that's helped through some situations in my life."

"What advice?"

"It's actually lyrics from a song before the War," Nikolai explained, standing up and looking down at Colt, "If you're going through hell, keep on moving and don't slow down. I should know; I've been in situations like you are right now, I've been down to my last match… but, the good news is that there's angels every where around you, holding out a hand to pull you back up on your feet… you just got to take their hand and keep on moving through the fire… you'll eventually get out."

With that, Nikolai picked up the serving tray off the floor and strode to the door. He waved for the power armored guards to follow and they all left the cell, leaving the prisoners in a dim and silent room. Colt pushed aside the plate of food and glass of water, clearing a space. Then he placed his hat underneath his head as he lay down on the floor, trying to sleep. There was nothing more for him to do; he didn't have an appetite and he didn't feel like talking to anyone else… so, he just lay down and thought for a moment.

Nikolai knew the pain Colt was going through and felt for it. It was obvious he wanted to help Colt and Aleksander both find peace and he knew the only way was for Colt to get out of this damned cell and find Aleksander and put him out of his misery. Now, Colt didn't know if Nikolai felt he should actually help Colt, but he sure hoped he felt that way…

Then, Colt began to think again about his chances to get out… slim to none. He still believed there was no way for him to get of the bunker and find Aleksander… he was still almost broken…

But then he repeated Nikolai's words in his mind, _If you're going through hell, keep on moving…_

Nikolai was right. Colt couldn't give up… not now. He just had to keep moving through the pain and suffering and, eventually, he'll get out of the fire… he just had to keep going, no matter the cost.

Colt fell asleep moments later, Cass' pendant in his hand. He did not want the next day and another grueling interrogation session to come, but it was going to regardless and, if it did, he would just get through it and keep on walking… and he'll keep a look out for those angels who are going to pull him back up on his feet.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN: Here's a translation for the sentence Nikolai says: **

**Sentence:** Vy zdes ne sporit so mnoĭ! S prosto stoyat i zakryl yebesh vverh!

**Translation:** And you're not here to argue with me! So, just stand there and shut the fuck up!

**Now, I'm not too sure if the translation is right... if it isn't and you know the correct translation, please, go ahead and tell me and I'll make changes. Oh, and yes, I felt it was _asolutely _necessary to put a mention of one of my favorite songs ever in this story since it fits in so well. Anyway, thanks for reading and, by all means, review and tell me what ya think! XD**


	22. Out of the Frying Pan

**A/N: Wow... school is seriously kicking my a** right now... alot of classes and alot of work... little advice: DON'T TAKE AP CLASSES! Anyway, I'm sorry I haven't updated in a long, long, long, long, long, _LONG_ time, but I've had alot of work to do and it will more than likely be like this for awhile... but I'll try and update as soon as I possibly can! I HAVE NOT given up on this story. If I had to guesstimate, I don't think I'm even halfway done with writing it, so, don't worry, there's plenty more coming! XD**

**Now, just as a reminder to where we are in the story, Colt, Veronica, and Boone are still being held prisoner by the BoS... at least, not for long... **

* * *

><p>"Hey, wake up!"<p>

Colt slowly opened his eyes, his head and mind throbbing as he let in what little light there was in the room. To his side was a large and bulky black shadow stooped down, trying to shake the prisoner awake. Colt pushed the bulky figure aside and slowly sat up, his muscles straining as they stretched and lifted the top heavy man up. Rubbing his sore neck, he turned to the figure who finally cam into view; it was a power armored soldier kneeling beside him, a laser rifle slung over his shoulder and a hand on Colt's shoulder. Colt looked at him and a twang of fear struck, horrified that he might be taken back to the interrogation cell and be tortured again…

"No," Colt managed to stagger, shrugging the soldier's hand off and pushing him away, "I'm not going to the fucking room and you're not going to fucking beat me again! Back away!"

"I don't want to interrogate you," the man said, still standing over Colt. His voice was familiar… but Colt just ignored it and continued to wave the soldier off, not wanting to go anywhere with him.

"Just get away from me…"

"Look, I want to get you out of here," the soldier continued, removing his helmet and revealing his ghoulified face…

"Nikolai?" Colt asked, squinting through half-open eyelids and finally noticing him. It _was_ Nikolai, the ghoul he ferociously beat last night. He was standing over Colt with a hand held out… for a moment, Colt couldn't believe it…

"Come and I'll get you out of here…"

Colt hesitated, not knowing what to do… why was Nikolai helping him? How was he going to get him out of here? Why? Then, he thought back to last night…

_There's angels every where around you, holding out a hand to pull you back up on your feet… you just got to take their hand and keep on moving through the fire…_

Colt, with a smile, finally realized that Nikolai was one of these angels… he took the ghoul's gloved hand and was hoisted to his feet, letting out a small chuckle as he realized he was finally going to move through the fire… finally going to get out of this hell… finally going to find Cass… but he couldn't help but wonder… why?

"Hey," Colt said, staggering as he stood, "Why are you helping me, Nikolai?"

"Because," Nikolai answered, bending down and picking up Colt's hat and sunglasses, holding the items out to him, "All of this suffering needs to end… yours, Aleksander's… mine… and you're the one who's going to end it all; I'm too frightened to do what needs to be done, Mikhail's just ignoring it, Vladimir's self-absorbed, and Aleksander doesn't have the emotional strength to do so… only you seem to be the one with the will to do it and the least I can do is help you. Now, come… let's go."

Colt nodded and took the items, placing the hat on top of his head, covering the chestnut brown hair, and slipped on the dark sunglasses, shading his bright blue eyes.

Nikolai clapped Colt on the shoulder, "Your friends are waiting outside."

With that, Nikolai headed for the door and Colt followed, striding across the now empty room, the soles of his cowboy boots echoing with each footfall, and towards the door. Through the doorway, they arrived in a dark hallway that seemed to be beneath another hallway. A steel grating is what seperated the two, acting as a ceiling for the hallway below and a floor for the hallway on the main floor. Bright lights from the bunker's ceiling splintered through the grating, coming down and streaking across the cold steel floor in long white streams, casting everything below in brighgt white blinds. Outside of the cell and in the lower hallway, Boone and Veronica, who were still in the Ranger uniforms given to them by the NCR, stood waiting with Ramos, who was looking around nervously and vigilantly. He turned at the arrival of Colt and Nikolai, letting out a stifled sigh of relief.

"Finally," Ramos whispered, "You guys ready?"

"What's going on?" Veronica asked, looking just as bewildered as Colt.

"Nikolai and I are getting you guys out of here," Ramos answered, looking over his shoulder at the call of a distant clang. "You should not be here," he continued, turning back to the group, the look on his face getting harder, "And the Brotherhood has no right to keep you here; the Elder has gone too far with this… you have done nothing wrong… this is the Brotherhood and NCR's war and you should have nothing to do with it."

"Wait, what war?" Colt asked, taking a step forward, "Isn't their war over?"

"Look, we have to go. We'll discuss it later. Now, come one…"

"But, how are we going to get out of here?" Veronica continued to persist.

"When we ambushed the patrol you were with, there was one Humvee left operational and I had orders to confiscate it. You guys are going to use it to get the hell out of here, whether the Elder or anyone else approves or not. Now, enough with the questions and let's go."

"No," Colt bluntly said.

"Ramos turned around, an eyebrow raised, "Are you kidding me? I'm trying to help you out of here and you say 'no'?"

"Colt," Veronica interjected, her worry for the situtation prevelent in her voice, "He wants to help..."

"I don't trust him... he's with the Brotherhood, so how do we know that this isn't a trap?"

"If you recall, I was the one who was fighting with the Elder for holding you guys here," Ramos commented, trying to persuade Colt as he stepped forward. "You need to trust me... I'm not setting you up..."

Colt looked at Ramos for a minute, picking him apart as he tried to tell fact from fiction... but it was impossible because there was not one single hint of fiction in Ramos' face... all there was was sincerity...

Colt took in one deep breath... "Alright..."

Ramos, without a second glance, turned and started towards a set of stairs just a few feet away. Nikolai, putting the helmet back over his head, brought up the rear of the group as they all followed Ramos, matching his half-jogging speed, up the stairs and emerging into the hallway above. They followed the Head of Security as he led the group onto the grating and down a brightly lit hallway, is head constantly on a swivel and the escapees and their assistant's footsteps echoing throughout the hallway.

The hallway was completely deserted… not a soul occupied it except for the group striding down the metal tunnel. It was also strangely quiet, the footsteps of the group and distant clanging and chatter further down the hall being the only noises heard... something was going on… and it sounded big…

The group came upon an intersection, made up of the hallway they were currently traveling down and another hallway that cut straight across it. In the middle of the intersection was a large steel wall adorned with a banner that had the Brotherhood insignia inscribed in gold and the banner was flanked on each side by two turrets… Colt's heart raced… but he soon realized that they were not firing and must've identified them as allies since they were with Ramos and Nikolai… but their sensors continued to track the group and the turrets rotated as they made a left at the intersection and continued down.

The group traveled halfway down the extremely short hallway and then abruptly turned right, starting up a long set of stairs that was dimly lit with omniscient orange lights. They pounded up the stairs, each one of their boots echoing rapidly as they jogged up the metallic flight. Finally, the stairway broke open into a small, gray steel room with another set of stairs that, obviously, led up and out of the bunker and a large steel door across from the group. The group entered the entrance room to the bunker and gathered around Ramos in the middle as he turned to address them.

Ramos pointed to the second set of steps, "Up there is—" He stopped dead in his words, his eyes widening as he shot his head back to the set of steps he guided the group up… a chorus of loud, metallic clattering echoed from farther down into the bunker… the clatter of power armor as its operators walked down the hallway. The threatening sounds grew louder and louder as the chorus came closer and closer…

"Quick," Ramos hissed, rushing past the group and towards the door behind them, "Get into my office… now!"

Ramos smashed his fist against a button next to the door and the large, metal sheets slid open, revealing a pint-sized room that would serve as a temporary hiding spot for the rather large group. Without argument, for the foreboding clangs continued to close in and call out their certain demise, the group, with the exception of Ramos, piled into the room, just barely fitting into the tight space that was already occupied by two tables and a computer.

"This will only take a minute," Ramos said, the clangs now calling out from just a few feet down the stairs. With a slam of the fist on the door's button, the large metal sheets hissed closed and locked… and not a moment too soon. Within seconds, the clangs arrived just outside the door and voices began conversing…

"Paladin Ramos," one of the voices said, the delicate voice of a young woman, "How are you this evening, sir? I thought you were in your quarters…"

"I'm fine," Ramos answered, chuckling, "I just thought I'd check the security cameras around the valley… make sure the NCR isn't on our doorstep. Now, may I ask, where are you five heading off to at such a late hour? Certainly not to the surface… not with all of the increased NCR activity…"

"Unfortunately, yes, sir," a second, much younger voice of a male answered, "Elder McNamara wants us to establish a base camp on Black Mountain."

"Black Mountain? Isn't that a little dangerous?"

"No, sir. The Courier dispatched most of the Nightkin that inhabited it long ago. There should only be a few stragglers… easy enough for the five of us."

"Huh," Ramos' muffled scoff came through the door as he continued to pester who ever was leaving, "Why does the Elder want Black Mountain under Brotherhood control?"

Colt wondered why as well… why is the Brotherhood even sending out units? Why is there increased NCR activity on the surface? Just what the hell was going on?

"Communications, sir. The broadcast tower that is set up there for the radio station is going to make an excellent communications tower for future units that move into the Mojave area and it will lengthen our current radio range."

"Um, sir," a third gruff voice piped up, "Why are you drilling us so hard, sir? We're just following orders… you're not… hiding anything, are you?"

Ramos was quiet for a few minutes, worrying those who were hiding away form the Brotherhood Paladins… but then he spoke, a certain false anger in his voice that seemed to frighten the Paladins…

"What are you insinuating?"

"Uh… nothing, sir…" the gruff voice answered, hesitating from the slight anger Ramos seemed to exuberate.

"You know damn well that, as Head of Security, I have to keep tabs on everyone leaving and exiting the bunker, which includes you… now, get out of here… and leave the Humvee alone! Only the Scribes are allowed to touch it…"

The clatter from before started again and grew softer and softer until it was faint. Ramos kept the escapees in the room for a few minutes until he knew for sure the Paladins were gone. Then, he opened the door, stepping aside as the group pilled out into the entrance chamber once more.

Ramos turned to the second set of steps, "As I was saying; that's the way out of the bunker. Go up that flight of steps and through a couple doors and you'll be out. Once you get out, the Humvee will be right there in front the entrance… Nikolai has the keys and will help you get out of here…"

"Won't you be coming, Ramos?" Veronica asked, taking a step towards him.

Ramos shook his head, "No, kiddo, I have to stay here and cover your trail."

"But, you can't," Veronica continued, trying to persuade him, "They're going to find out you helped us sooner or later…"

"Yeah, it'll be later… Nikolai's going to take the fall for helping you and throw any suspicions off of me. Now, if they do find out I helped," Ramos looked deeply at Veronica, "Then I will leave… but, for now, I have to stay and keep the Elder in place…"

Veronica nodded, her eyes beginning to fill with tears, "Okay… thank you, Ramos…"

"You're welcome, Veronica… now, go…"

Veronica turned, without a second glance, and started up the long flight of stairs with Boone, leaving Nikolai, Ramos, and Colt in the room below.

Colt turned to Ramos, extending a hand, "Thank you and, if they do find out, just come and find us… you can gladly join this band of misfits…"

"No problem and thanks for the gesture, but I'll be fine; the Elder trusts me a little too much," Ramos said, shaking Colt's hand. "Oh, and all of your gear should be in the trunk of the Humvee. Now, get out of here before someone sees you."

Colt nodded and waved for Nikolai to follow, the two starting up the flight of stairs after Veronica and Boone. He couldn't believe it; he was actually getting out of this bunker. Now, all he had to do was get back to General Oliver and… no, he wasn't going to give up the Brotherhood of Steel. Let the NCR find the Ranger murderer's on their own… just as he had to find his family's murderer's on his own. The NCR doesn't deserve his help… although, not fulfilling his obligations with the NCR would mean he has to find another way to get to the Stallions, Aleksander, and Cass. Thankfully, that way was right behind him… Nikolai Betkovsky…

It took a few minutes before Colt and Nikolai finally reached the top of the orange-lit staircase and the first of four steel doors. The door slid open with the familiar hiss and revealed another bare steel room made of dull gray metal. It was cold in this room, revealing that they were now closer to the surface… closer to freedom. Colt and Nikolai walked up into the room and strode to the middle, the door shutting and locking behind them.

Without missing a step, the two continued across the room and through another steel door, walking into a room littered with a couple cargo crates that held God only knows what. But that didn't matter; what mattered were the next two steel doors that stood in between Colt, Nikolai, and freedom. They strode across the second room, passing the white-gray steel crates that were pilled up on both sides of the room, and through the third steel door that slid open as soon as they came in range of its sensors.

They half-jogged up the entrance stairwell that climbed and climbed up and towards the surface, the air getting cooler and cooler as they continued foward, signifying that they were closer and closer to the surface. Colt couldn't help but smile as the two reached the fourth and final door out of the bunker that slid open as soon as Colt set foot on the last step.

A blast of cold air flushed into the bunker as the door opened and more cold air hit Colt as he stepped out into the cool Mojave night. A tear almost came to his eye as the freed prisoner of war looked up at the night sky, inky blackness, the one blackness he wanted to see, spread across the open canvas. Little lights, distant stars that burned brightly with a white hot intensity, twinkled in the blackness like little shimmers of hope in a world of despair. It was truly beautiful…

Nikolai passed by Colt, brushing his arm with the power armor as he made his way towards the silhouette of the Humvee that sat just a few yards away. The brush on the arm brought Colt back to earth and he regained his focus, realizing he can enjoy his freedom when he was farther away from the bunker and safe in hiding…

As Nikolai, the only one in the group who had experience with pre-War vehicles, jogged around the front of the Humvee and swung open the driver side door, Colt made his way to the trunk, popping open the latch and hoisting the door up. Just as Ramos said, all of the prisoner's gear was stored inside; Colt and Cass' rucksacks closest to the edge of door and Colt's M16, Boone's rifle, and Veronica's gauntlet just beyond them. Colt left the weapons where they were and opened Cass' bag, shifting through the contents. He pushed aside her leather jacket, looking at it for a minute before continuing to dig, and pushed aside empty bottles of whiskey until he finally found what he was looking for… resting on top of his combat armor at the bottom was a black leather holster holding a sparkling silver revolver that glistened in the moonlight… his prescious family heirloom.

Colt quickly grabbed the weapon, slamming the trunk shut and jogging towards the front passenger side door, clipping the holster to the straps on his right thigh. He opened the door, clambering in and slammed it behind him, adjusting himself in the seat.

When he was finally comfortable, Colt looked to Nikolai, who was still adjusting the heavy power armor in the cramped space, "Can you drive this thing?"

Nikolai nodded, removing his helmet and tossing it to the outside as he close the door, "Da… at least I think I remember… let's just hope for the best. Is everyone strapped in?"

Colt turned to the back, making sure Veronica and Boone had boarded the vehicle; Veronica was in the seat behind Nikolai, glancing out the window and hiding her face, and Boone was behind Colt, his arms crossed as he looked to the floor… both seemed tired of this adventure and Colt felt bad that they had to endure that torture… but the one way he could truly make up for it was getting out of here and finding Cass…

"Yeah, everyone's buckled up," Colt answered Nikolai, turning back to the front and buckling the seat belt. "Where the hell are we going, Nikolai?"

Nikolai just simply nodded his head as he reached into a pouch to his side and pulled out the keys to the Humvee.

"To visit Mikhail," the driver answered, slipping the keys into the ignition and started to crank the engine, "He's the only one who knows where Aleksander is… pusk, to kusok der`ma!" The engine sputtered as Nikolai slammed his fist in anger at the vehicles inability to start.

"Where is Mikhail?" Colt asked, adjusting the strap on the seatbelt.

"Red Rock Canyon."

"Why is he at Red Rock Canyon?"

"I have no clue. He said it was safe or something like that…"

Nikolai turned the ket one more time and finally cranked the vehicle's heavy diesel engine, the entire chassis and frame shaking as the pistons turned and the four stroke cycle brought the machine to life. The sound of the engine was as sweet as molasses… it was the sweet sound of freedom. Nikolai put the Humvee in gear, the gearbox grinding once more as the gears shifted, and then started the vehicle forwards, turning around towards the back of the bunker's entrance and towards a large chain linked gate just a few meters away.

"Well, I guess its to Red Rock Canyon, then," Colt said, holding on to the edge of his seat as Nikolai slammed his foot on the accelerator and sent the Humvee barreling forward towards the locked gate of the valley.

The gates broke open as the front of the Humvee slammed into it going right around fifty miles per hours, sending the steel doors to the sides of the road, mangled from the impact of the vehicle. The heavy duty Humvee, although battered from the battle just a day or two before, shrugged off the impact, not a single dent being imprinted into the frame. Nikolai, knowing the vehicle took the impact well, just continued the vehicle down the road, passing by a small encampment just outside the valley where the Brotherhood bunker was located and past a dark and bleak prison.

Within minutes the vehicle reached an intersection and Nikolai turned it right on a stretch of road that was clearly labeled, with a rusty white sign, as "I-15". Nikolai continued the vehicle down the road, obviously planning to avoid the town of Good Springs, which lay in the opposite direction, and avoid as much humanely contact as possible. The only town, which really wasn't much of a town anyway, they passed by was the sleepy mining settlement known as Sloan. After the Humvee drove on by, no one noticing a thing, the group came upon a bend in the interstate… a bend that looked all too familiar to Colt…

To the right of the road, just south of the bend, was a large concrete platform just above the railroad tracks where the Brotherhood of Steel ambushers had taken up position against the small vehicular patrol that was supposed to roll by… at least that's where Colt believed the Brotherhood had taken position and that this bend in the road was where the ambush took place… he couldn't rightfully remember...

Colt looked around briefly at the supposed ambush sight; the only thing that could identifiy this bend as being the sight of the ambush was a scorch on the road where the first Humvee was hit and the bent lamppost off to the side… the lamppost Colt's Humvee collided into. There were no bodies and there was no wreckage… the sight was completely cleaned up.

Nikolai slowed the Humvee down, "This is where the ambush took place… I'm sorry…"

Colt looked around, deep sadness hitting him at the though of the innocent soldiers who died here. "What happened to the NCR soldiers?"

"They were all killed," Nikolai answered not looking away from the road as he turned the vehicle around the bend and continuing down the straightaway, "And that's not even the worst part…"

"What's the worst part?"

"More NCR patrols heard your distress call and came running… they stumbled across the Brotherhood as they were burying the dead NCR bodies and were clearing the wreckage off the road. A small battle ensued and the NCR patrols were killed… but not before they relayed a message to the commanders at McCarran who, in turn, relayed a message to their superiors back in California. Now," Nikolai scoffed, slowly shaking his head, "Things between the NCR and Brotherhood are tense. Leading military and political leaders from the NCR and the High Elders of the Brotherhood are discussing the events and are trying to figure out what's the best course of action… but, its more or less an argument over who shot who first and who's the good guy and bad guy… and with the way things are going, there might be another Brotherhood and NCR war in the Wasteland… and it's going to be bigger than the last."

"How could it be bigger?"

"The Brotherhood leadership in Lost Hills made contact with the two other chapters, the East Coast branch and the Midwestern branch, and asked for their assistance. The East Coast branch refused, still, as always, refusing to accept the Lost Hills authority. The Midwestern branch, however… let's just say they were bribed into joining the war if it erupts."

"Bribed?"

"Da," Nikolai nodded, speeding the Humvee up as it traveled down the hill Colt and the patrol came up before they were ambushed, "They still collect technology, even though they splintered off from the Lost Hills. So, the Brotherhood leadership at Lost Hills bribed the Midwestern branch with the spoils from the probable war with the NCR… including major technology and, more than likely, control over the Mojave Wasteland... they accepted and, now, if the NCR and Lost Hills branch go to war, the Midwestern branch will jump in and deploy units here in the Mojave… it will be a bloodbath…"

Colt nodded; things in the Mojave and the southwest as a whole were getting worse and worse… but he wasn't focused in that…

Soon, the Humvee will arrive in Red Rock Canyon and, hopefully, Colt would be a step closer to finding Cass. Hope was, again, lit inside him. He was closer than ever to finding her and, now, all he had to do was go to one more location before finally seeing her again… his heart was as high as its been in years.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hope you enjoyed and, personally, I'm glad that I finally got Colt out of that bunker... as always, review and tell me what ya think!**


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